Titanic: The Thomas Andrews Affair
by Celtic Ceilidh
Summary: Mimi Monaghan, a working class Irish maid, has spent months fantasising about Titanic's master shipbuilder, Thomas Andrews (Victor Garber-style). Employed as a White Star Line stewardess aboard Titanic, her femininity reawakens as she begins a fiery affair with the unhappily married shipbuilder. Lifechanging heartbreak ensues. Title based on 'The Thomas Crown Affair'. *ON HIATUS*
1. A Queen Of The Ocean

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** - This is my first _Titanic_ fanfiction, and my first published work for years. Thomas Andrews in this story is my own interpretation of Victor Garber's portrayal in_ James Cameron's Titanic_. He's my 'default' Mr. Andrews, if you will.

No disrespect is intended to the memory of the real life Thomas Andrews. And, I dedicate this to all the souls who suffered exactly 100 years ago as I write this note on the 14th of April, 2012.

**Additional info:** This story is set in 1982 and is told in an autobiographical style, from the POV of my own character - a fictional, elderly _Titanic_ survivor, called **Mimi Monaghan**. (My other half's family are from Northern Ireland; Monaghan is his family name, and a common Northern Irish name. We visit Northern Ireland once a year and often pass by the original Harland & Wolff shipyard in Belfast where_ Titanic_ was built.)

* * *

**_Chapter 1: Prologue: A Queen Of The Ocean_  
**

She was known as _The Ship Of Dreams_. And yes, she certainly seemed to be that. A marvel to look at, inside and out; she was what could only be described as a giant 'floating hotel'. There had never been anything like her until then. The Queen Of The Ocean. 'Unsinkable', was a word many people used to describe the monumental vision, anchored peacefully in the Southampton docks on that brisk April morning. And they truly believed she _was_ an unsinkable vessel. Why wouldn't they, after all? I had worked as a serving maid on smaller liner ships and ferry boats in England and Ireland before, but this ship was like nothing I'd ever experienced. There was a certain magical aura about the _R.M.S. Titanic_.

In passing, I had seen the two year construction of the ship in Belfast, at the Harland and Wolff shipyard. A fellow Belfast-based man by the name of Mr. Thomas Andrews, had overseen her design and the extensive building process. To witness the progress of such a project was astounding. Thousands of men had built her, but one man had designed her.

Oh, my dear, dear Mr. Andrews. He saw _Titanic_ through to her tragic and unexpected end. The project had been his brainchild, and ultimately, was what killed him. Him, and all those brave souls who had boarded his Ship Of Dreams, with the hope of starting a new life in The Land Of The Free. The sinking of the_ Titanic_ on the 15th of April, 1912, was the most talked about maritime disaster in history. I believe it still is. And _my_ significance? Well, I was one of the survivors. By the skin of my teeth, perhaps, to coin a more modern phrase. It is something which has haunted me for the past seventy years. I was twenty seven years old when the _Titanic_ went down; just a young lass myself.

Like many of the women who'd boarded the lifeboats, I had to accept that the man I loved wasn't coming back. I had to accept that I would never see him again. I had to accept that he was giving his life; for me, and for the many other poor souls whose fate was clear that night. The man I had loved, desired, and could never truly call mine: Mr. Andrews was the man whose ship had plunged more than one thousand innocent people to death, into the icy cold depths of the North Atlantic.

Striking the iceberg had not been his fault, you must understand. Not in any way. He was not a naval officer and had no control in steering the ship. He had been in his private quarters at the time of the incident, having spent most of the day studying blueprints of the ship's structure. As the designer of the vessel, he'd felt a huge burden of responsibility towards her and the safety of the passengers. He was a gentle man with a good heart. I had known that more than anyone else on _Titanic_'s maiden voyage.

After the iceberg had struck and the magnitude of the damage was suspected, he'd felt completely helpless and his soul had been destroyed. I knew this. He'd told me to my face, as we embraced for what would be one last time, in front of the ornate fireplace in the first class smoking room. Even before he'd told me, I had seen the helplessness in his face. In his eyes. Never had I witnessed a man so torn apart, by guilt, over what was happening. My own fear had been heightened by his desolation.

''There will be people who'll make it out alive from this,'' he'd whispered to me, his voice hushed and shaking. ''But many will not. That's the reality of this situation. There aren't enough lifeboats for even _half_ the people onboard. Hundreds will die, perhaps thousands. _Tonight_.''

Even now, I remember his words so well. I can still hear his voice clearly, in my mind. He'd then kissed the top of my head and pulled back quickly from my arms to look me in the eye. His face was close, his brown eyes were desperate.

''My dear Mimi. Many will perish. D'you understand? Lifeboats or not. I designed this damned ship! _She's pulling us down._ Many are perishing here, on this night. Get on one of the boats, Mimi. You_ must._''

My skin was so cold - cold from the drop in temperature since the collision with the iceberg; cold from the realisation that this amazing, unsinkable vessel was disintegrating into the ocean at an incredible rate. Mr. Andrews' words echoed through my head over and over. I started to shiver, not just from the chilly air, but out of pure fear and desperation.

''I... but, Thomas... I _can't_...''

I just couldn't get the words out. Again I clung to him, terrified. I inhaled his scent, and felt him shiver with fear just as I was.

''_No,_ Mimi," he scolded loudly, pulling me off of him with strong hands. ''Go! There's no time. Get up to the deck and save yourself now, or so help me _God_!''

With those words, he had pushed me away forcefully, in the direction of the doorway. The freezing water was a little past our ankles.

I pulled my overcoat over my shoulders tighter, and looked back at him.

''Please, Thomas... why won't you come with me? Maybe they're loading more men on! Don't just st... ''

Turning his teary eyes away from me, he cut me off.

''_This is my ship, Mimi_.''

I was the last one to see Thomas Andrews, _Titanic_'s creator and architect, alive. My darling Mr. Andrews. It only seems correct to call him by his last name, for he was more of a true gentleman than many of his first class counterparts were. And I can vouch for his integrity, his heroism and his devotion. How did the spectacle that was _Titanic_ turn into such a disaster, one where so many dreams and aspirations would drown? Human error can have such tragic consequences. You all know how the _Titanic_ story ends. But here, my own story is just beginning.


	2. A Lifechanging Opportunity

**Author's Note:** This chapter explores Mimi's back story, but she does mention Mr. Andrews. He'll feature more heavily from Chapter 3 onwards.

The only reason I've gone back to the 1980s in this story, is because all the _Titanic_ survivors are, of course, deceased. It makes more sense, timewise, for Mimi to be telling her story in the '80s. If she'd been real, she would've been almost 130 now!

(Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own Victor Garber's portrayal of Thomas Andrews or anything to do with the Titanic legend/James Cameron movie franchise. I do own Mimi Monaghan.)

* * *

_**Chapter 2: A Lifechanging Opportunity  
**_

You'll all be wondering, I'm sure, how I came to be a stewardess to the second class on the world's most notorious stricken liner.

Things had not been easy by any means, within my family life. Such was the way, in the 1900s. We didn't have much money, and my father worked all the hours God sent. But at the age of eighteen, I sent shockwaves through my strict Irish Catholic family, by having a child out of wedlock. Had I been married, it wouldn't have been an issue. But I was not; the father was someone I'd barely known. Such terrible shame I'd brought upon my family. When my daughter, Marie, was six weeks old, my parents gave her to a cousin to bring up as her own. I'd had no choice. I never saw Marie again after that, and she didn't know I was her real mother. It broke my heart, but it was the done thing in those days, to cover up young girls having children borne out of wedlock. My own fault.

I'd moved out of my parents' house soon after they'd taken my child away from me. I could sense their continuing displeasure with me, especially my father's. So I stayed with a kindly man who gave me bed and board, in return for housekeeping duties and cooking. There had been nothing more to it than that, and romance had never been on the cards.

But I knew I needed to earn a living - a proper wage. Aside from cooking and cleaning, my skills were few and far between. I became a simple dining room servant onboard small ferries travelling from Belfast to Scotland, and London to Liverpool. I soon learned the technique of silver service table waiting, and became accustomed to working for the upper classes on larger liners. I waited on tables and sometimes tended to their private quarters. Life at sea, even as a maid, was certainly something of an eye opener. I soon found myself employment as a stewardess, with the now infamous White Star Line company.

And that was how I'd first met_ Titanic_'s chief designer, Thomas Andrews. Back then, he'd been promoted to a managing director position at the Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast; a position handed to him by his uncle, Lord Pirrie. Mr. Andrews was already a fully fledged naval architect at Harland and Wolff, you see. He'd spent years there, and he was as dedicated to the craft as they come.

Mr. Andrews and I would see each other in passing; sometimes on the walkway to Belfast Harbour, and other times, onboard the smaller boats which were regularly docked there. He'd acknowledge me with a gentlemanly nod and a warm smile, and we would exchange a "hello" now and then. He was at least twelve years my senior, but goodness! I always felt a tad flustered on the occasions we passed each other by. He was tall, with mischievous brown eyes and dark wavy hair, greying a little near his ears. He'd always been impeccably dressed in a long fitted overcoat and blazer, with a waistcoat and pocket watch chain. His shirt was always crisp and white, his tie was always knotted close to the wings of his collar, and his shoes were always immaculately polished. Such a dapper gent, indeed. I often saw him walking down the corridors of the boats; a black, leather-bound journal containing his notes would be clutched in one hand, and his pocket watch in the other. He was very conscious of timekeeping, and wasn't one for being late. When I look back at _Titanic_'s last hours at sea, I still thank him for his timekeeping. Had he not been as efficient as he was, those onboard would've been clueless as to how long it would take for the ship to sink. Even more lives would've been lost, if my dear Mr. Andrews had shrugged his shoulders at the Captain's question:_ ''How long...?''_

After the construction of the _R.M.S. Titanic_ had reached completion, many crew and serving staff from the White Star Line were chosen to work on the marvellous liner. Mr. Andrews suggested _me_ as a stewardess for the second class suites on B Deck. Me, of all people! I was flattered at being personally recommended by the shipbuilder. For one thing, the rate of pay was far better than anything I'd earned before. And, my goodness - who would not want to work onboard the much anticipated Ship Of Dreams? A palatial beauty, floating on the water, heading towards the Land Of The Free. Only a fool would've turned down the opportunity of working on _Titanic_. I may have paid the price for my teenaged stupidity some years before, but I was determined to make things better for myself now.

And, well, Mr Andrews was such a pleasant, charming man. I'd found myself becoming more and more drawn to him, even before _Titanic_'s maiden voyage. My heart would hammer when we passed by each other, and my face would flush pink. I'd heard Chinese whispers that, although married with a child, his wife had been carrying on with another man and he was heartbroken over her deceit. Of course, this was not something he ever spoke about with his fellow colleagues, and it was certainly none of _my_ business. I couldn't help but wonder, though. I had spent several months doing little more than passing by this man in boat corridors and in the harbour. I didn't know him well enough, and this was not the way to initiate any sort of romantic relationship. Women in those days were usually never so forward. And I did not have the right to be with a married man anyway! What on earth was I thinking? I knew I had to behave more professionally, not like a nervous young girl. I was twenty seven years years old, for heaven's sake. This juvenile blushing nonsense had to stop. Mr. Andrews could never have been anything more than my superior, and I had to behave accordingly. To him, I was just a maid on the ship he designed.

Mr. Andrews and the crew of the _Titanic_, led by Captain Edward John Smith, had headed out on the new ship on the 2nd of April, 1912; this would've been called a test run, I suppose. I hadn't been present then - my first time on_ Titanic_ would be the day she set sail from Belfast Lough to Southampton Dock, on the 4th of April. It would also be the first time I was freed from my stifling Irish Catholic constraints. You may think my perception of freedom was strange, considering I'd be nothing more than a servant to a higher class of people on the ship. I was still a working class girl from just outside of Belfast, after all. But getting away from the threats of fire and brimstone was just what I'd needed, and working _Titanic_ was a new adventure. Only, I didn't foresee just how adventurous things would be. None of us did. The events to come, would be lifechanging: for me, for everyone onboard, their families, and for the rest of maritime history as we know it.


	3. Leaving Belfast & Champagne with Andrews

_**Author's Note**_ - Hello again, people! I'm pleasantly surprised by all the faves/subs/reviews this story has had so far. It's amazing, and I thank each and every one of you for your kindness.

(Usual disclaimer: I don't own Victor Garber's portrayal of Mr. Andrews or the Titanic legend/James Cameron's _Titanic._ Mimi is mine, etc. )

* * *

**_Chapter 3: Leaving Belfast & Champagne with Mr. Andrews_  
**

The day of the official launch of the _Titanic_ from Belfast to Southampton, was one of such incredible excitement. I believe today, people would say 'fever pitch'. I'd never seen anything like it before. I don't think anyone in Northern Ireland had, to be quite honest with you. Back then, Ireland wasn't separated into two different parts the way it is today. It was still all one Ireland in 1912, and the divide into North and South happened later, in 1928. But, I digress. More than one hundred thousand people had lined the quayside and the surrounding streets, to view the grandest liner Ireland had ever seen. The day was sunny, the atmosphere was electric. People of all classes had assembled to see the spectacle. Ireland was proud of its masterful achievement. The _Titanic_ was the most talked about, sought after liner. Goodness, I was very pleased to be an Irish woman on that fine April day. Even prouder, though, to have been selected as one of_ Titanic_'s elite crew. Just a maid, I may have been. But there was not a grander ship to be a maid on! I'd never felt so lucky.

Onboard the ship for the first time as she set sail for England, we were given our uniforms first, then members of the crew were acquainted with one another. There were no passengers aboard for this journey; her maiden voyage was yet to take place.

The engineers, fire stokers and look-outs had all been hard at work, but I was able to familiarise myself with Captain Edward John Smith, some of the officers and also the hospitality staff. Mr. Andrews had of course been there - and as proud as punch, I have to say! Also present was Joseph Bruce Ismay, a tall, thin moustachioed chap. He was the chairman of the White Star Line, and an acquaintance of Mr. Andrews. It was pleasing to be introduced to many of the people I would be working with over the next few months, and I was already making new friends.

Mr. Andrews was an incredibly busy man that day, lost among all the hustle and bustle of showing the hospitality staff and stewards the various restaurants, cafes and leisure rooms all over the ship. The now infamous Grand Staircase was like something out of a fairytale; absolutely beautiful. Jaws had dropped all over the place! I think none of us believed what we were seeing, and that this wonderful liner was our new place of work. Mr. Andrews had designed something of sheer splendor and beauty. The man was an architectural genius.

Of course, the ship was divided into 'classes' of passenger. First Class was the upper deck - also called A Deck - and only the very rich would be allowed to reside there. Second Class was B Deck, situated in the middle, for those who were comfortable financially. And Third Class on D Deck - steerage - was for the working class and the poor. Those particular living quarters there were basic and situated near the bottom of the liner. Had I been a mere passenger aboard the ship, I would've been residing in steerage myself. Rather ironic, I think you'll agree! But as a stewardess for the second class, my living quarters were reasonable enough. My cabin was small, but certainly adequate for a few weeks away at sea. I had little in the way of personal belongings with me, as I preferred to travel light and saw no need to drag lots of items around.

That evening, most of the new staff had been expected at a celebration party held by Captain Smith, to mark the official launch out to sea of _R.M.S. Titanic_. Mr. Andrews and Mr. Ismay were the guests of honour, being the designer and the chairman respectively. I was glad I'd at least brought one set of glad-rags, and a some rouge and lipstick, with me in my trunk.

In my room, I changed out of my usual grey dress and ankle boots, into something a little more colourful and pleasing to the eye. I piled my mousey brown curls on top of my head to give me a bit of sophistication, and applied my rouge and my lipstick. Was I trying to gain the attention of anyone in particular, you may ask? Well, that would be for you to decide!

The Captain's party was being held in the First Class dining room. There were exquisite hors d'ouevres and drinks being served from silver trays, and the champagne was flowing. My fellow stewardesses and other staff all looked very presentable. As I chatted to one of the stewardesses, whose name was Violet, Mr. Andrews came into my view. My heartbeat had picked up speed immediately. Oh, he looked so dashing! Such a handsome man. So tall; over six feet in height, I imagined. He towered over me! Dark hair, parted and swept to the side. Hazel brown eyes that sparkled vibrantly. A smile that could melt the heart of the frostiest woman. He was dressed like a dapper gentleman; shoes shining, undershirt starched, waistcoat and bow tie, and black overcoat with tails. He was everything I'd wanted in a man, which sounds cliched, but also happened to be how I'd felt.

Walking towards me and the other maid, he nodded ever so politely.

''Good evening, ladies! I'm glad you could make it. Would you care to join me at my table for drinks? We have the finest Moet and Chandon, chilled on ice."

The other maid stifled a shy giggle, but I stepped forward towards Mr. Andrews instead. I didn't want to be sharing him with her, thank you very much.

"Of course, Mr. Andrews,'' I replied, giving my biggest smile.

He courteously offered me and the other maid an arm each, and escorted us to his table. Such a gentleman. But I still didn't want _her _there! As the waiter poured our champagne into glasses, Mr. Andrews turned to me. I seemed to be his favourite, out of the two of us.

"It's Mimi, isn't it?"

I was surprised he'd remembered my name! A hot flush crept down my chest.

"Yes, Mr. Andrews. Mimi Monaghan, sir.''

A smile played on his lips as he nodded his head and sipped from his champagne flute.

''That's right, I remember. Might I say, you're looking quite delightful tonight, Miss Mimi.''

Had he just said that? To _me_? I couldn't quite believe it. Perhaps he was just being polite. Mr. Andrews was well known for being one of the most polite men around, after all. But I took the compliment, regardless.

''Why, thank you, Mr. Andrews. You look rather handsome, your good self."

Had_ I_ just said that? To _him_? I couldn't quite believe it. I wasn't just being polite, I was behaving like a ridiculous swooning schoolgirl! I should've known better. I'd immediately regretted opening my rather large mouth. He didn't appear to mind, though. He gave a smile and a chuckle, and happily carried on sipping his champagne. Violet, the maid who'd been with us, seemed distracted by one of the other men at the table. Well, that had suited me fine! Being in the company of Mr. Andrews was something that I'd been dreaming about for... oh, goodness... months, by then. Yes, yes, he was a married man. I was aware of all that. I had no intention of interfering with his marriage. What kind of brazen harlot would that have made me? But I'd hoped, secretly, that perhaps - just perhaps - he would befriend me, at the very least.

_Befriend me. Confide in me. Take me to his bed. Ravish me, in a rather ungentlemanly fashion._

Terrible, I knew that. Impure! I knew that, also. I'd scolded myself every minute, of every day, for thinking in such a way. My thoughts were very, very wrong. Being oppressed since I'd been forced to give up my daughter, I could feel a side of me bursting to be set free. Oh, how I wanted to stop behaving like a nice little Catholic girl and follow my female instincts, which in those days was frowned upon. But I predicted that working on the _Titanic_ would be the start of something different for me. I could feel it in my water... well, so to speak.


	4. Something's Come Over Me

**Author's Note:** Again, thank you for all reviews/faves!

As many of you know, Elba was the nickname the real Thomas Andrews gave to his daughter.

There is some Andrews/Mimi passion in this chapter. Remember I have Victor Garber's portrayal of Mr. Andrews from the James Cameron film in mind when writing this. It's NOT intended to be offensive to the real life Thomas Andrews, or his family.

* * *

_**Chapter 4: Something's Come Over Me  
**_

The Captain's gallant evening of staff socialising had gone very well, but it was getting late and many of the crew and stewards retired to their cabins at half past ten. There weren't many people left in the dining room, and Mr. Andrews was looking a little tired himself. He'd certainly had a couple of brandies as well as the champagne, though he appeared sober enough. Mr. Andrews wasn't really a consumer of alcohol at the best of times, prefering to stay away from the demon drink unless it was for medicinal purposes. I assumed his social drinking this evening was just that - social. I had taken three glasses of champagne myself, which wasn't many over the course of two hours. But I hadn't wanted to become intoxicated with alcohol, on the first night onboard my new place of work. That would've been unacceptable.

Looking at his pocket watch and putting it back into his waistcoat again, Mr. Andrews turned to me at the table.

''Mimi, I've had a thought. I've enjoyed this evening so much, and I could do with some company before I turn in. All this travelling, well, it gets a bit lonely sometimes. Would ye like to accompany me to my quarters for a nightcap?''

Well, good Lord! Mr. Andrews, asking me to go with him... to his personal quarters, for a final drink? My eyes couldn't have been any wider at the thought. It was very unexpected of him, and rather forward. What did he _really_ want from me?

''Oh, only a nightcap, you understand!'' he reiterated, noting my startled expression. ''I would never be so ungentlemanly, as to expect anything else. I _am _a married man. I'm just requesting the pleasure of your company for a wee bit longer. It's all innocent.''

He hadn't even needed to ask. Not that I would ever have told _him_ that.

''Of course, Mr. Andrews.''

Smiling sweetly, he escorted me out of the dining room and through the winding corridors, till we reached his private stateroom. What on earth was I doing? Women didn't go to married men's private quarters alone in those days. It was socially and morally unacceptable.

''Come in, come in!" he said, waving me inside the main room and closing the door behind me.

Standing shyly near the doorway, I waited to be seated. As I'd expected, his quarters were far bigger than mine and much more luxurious, with ornate rugs on the polished wooden floors and paintings on the walls. There were blueprints of the ship's layout spread across the mahogany desk in the middle of the room, and scrawled handwritten notes on sheets of paper, scattered on the floor.

''You've been busy," I observed, with a wry smile. I was a maid, but I wasn't about to start picking up his mess!

Brushing his fingers through the front of his hair sheepishly and clearing his throat, he bent over and gathered up his notes.

''Apologies, Mimi. I have so many thoughts in my head about what improvements could be made to the ship. Believe it or not, she's still not quite the way I wanted her. Sometimes I get frustrated and, well... you can see for yourself that I lose my rag sometimes."

It was a strangely endearing little moment to try to picture in my head. Mr. Andrews and his pent-up creative energy, getting the better of him. I couldn't imagine such a nice man working up a temper, throwing his handwritten notes to the floor with rage! He arranged his papers on the desk and rolled up the blueprints, making space for a half-full bottle of sherry and a couple of small glasses. He then offered me a glass, as he poured the alcohol into his own.

''A nightcap to keep you warm before bed, Mimi?''

I accepted, and he dutifully filled my glass. I wasn't so keen on sherry, but didn't want to seem impolite by declining. My mother liked the odd sherry now and then, and it didn't really appeal to me. Mr. Andrews gestured to the padded leather chair in front of the desk.

''Have a seat, dear.''

I settled down comfortably and sipped from my glass, trying not to screw my eyes up at the sweet, cloying taste. Such an expression on a woman's face would've been most unappealing! Mr. Andrews perched himself on the edge of his desk in front of me, as there was no other chair in the room.

''Well then, Mimi! I've realised that before tonight, we'd never really spoken properly before,'' he told me with a smile, looking quite cheery for that time of night. There was something mischievous about the way he smiled; the left corner of his lip turned up a little more than the right. I suppose you could say his smile was rather quirky, which only added to his charm.

Again, I blushed. Goodness, I really had to stop with this blushing nonsense. That man just had to glance at me for less than a second, and my face would turn crimson. How embarrassing - I was sure he'd noticed it.

"Yes, Mr. Andrews,'' I began rather quietly, sitting up straighter in my chair and resting my hands in my lap. I had to make sure that my posture was more ladylike. ''We _haven't_ spoken properly before, have we? I'll tell you now, that it's been an honour to be a part of this event. I mean, everything about this ship. It's magnificent! And the opening celebration tonight, being, um... in your... your...''

I trailed off for a moment, gesturing with my hands as I thought of the correct word to use. Oh, for heaven's sake! He would surely think I was nothing more than an empty headed serving wench, like many men considered women in those days. But Mr. Andrews just focused his eyes on mine, his eyebrows raised a little, wondering which word I was searching for. Actually, I had been going to say '_being in your presence_'. But I'd decided that would sound, well, a tad ridiculous. He wasn't the Pope!

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," I said finally, before clearing my throat.

Mr. Andrews chuckled to himself and sipped at his glass of sherry. After a quiet moment, he said, "If I may be so bold? I would like to know more about you,"

I squinted my eyes, a little unsure of what he meant.

"I do beg your pardon, Mr. Andrews?"

He shook his head quickly at my confused response.

"Oh, I must apologise! If I'm being invasive, then please say. That's not my intention."

I made sure I had eye contact with him this time - my eyes straight to his - instead of my usual girlish habit of looking down into my lap.

"I know that, Mr. Andrews. Really though, there's nothing to tell. I'm not an interesting person. And... there are things I've done in my life I would rather not speak about.''

There was that smile again. The squint, quirky smile that melted my heart. He put his glass on the desk and said,''There isn't a person alive who hasn't done something they later regret. It's what makes us human, dear Mimi. We all have our secrets. But I cannot imagine you've ever done anything _so_ awful in your life. You seem such a lovely girl.''

If I'd had a knife in my hand at that moment, I could have cut the tension in the air with it. There was an awkward atmosphere in the cabin all of a sudden. Not because of anything bad, oh, nothing like that. But because I realised how terribly infatuated I had become with Mr. Andrews, and I knew that I couldn't keep hiding it. As it stood, I probably wasn't doing a good job of hiding it anyway. It must have been as clear as day to the poor man, by now.

I shifted a little in my chair, still trying to maintain a demure posture. Trying, being the correct word. A lady with my history could hardly have been called 'demure'.

"I'm not _that_ lovely, Mr. Andrews."

Oh, the wrong thing to have come out of my foolish mouth!

"Don't be silly, now," he chided, his fingers reaching to slightly loosen off his bow tie.

"But I'm not," I continued, almost petulantly, and against my own better judgement. The words came flooding out, regardless. ''I had to leave my parents when I was eighteen, ye see. I couldn't stay at home. I let them down. I let _myself _down,''

Mr. Andrews narrowed his eyes.

''May I ask, what happened?''

In nine years, I'd never once discussed my shameful past with anyone. Not one person. My past was an enigma to those who thought they knew me. And now I was about to share my terrible secret with Mr. Andrews. Of all the people in the world! And I knew why; I felt that I could trust him. I didn't know him very well, but I did feel he was trustworthy. It was an inner instinct, if you will.

"I had a child, Mr. Andrews," I whispered, feeling a wave hidden emotion coming to the surface. ''I was eighteen and unmarried. A child out of wedlock, sir. I brought shame to my parents. They gave her away to a cousin of my ma's."

I stopped briefly to take a shallow breath, before finishing.

''There was nothing I could do. She was just a wee baby. I miss my child, Mr. Andrews.''

Mr. Andrews didn't seem angry with me, which I hadn't expected. I was sure I could see compassion in his face. Compassion for _me_, a working class maid with a dirty past. I noticed his chest slowly rise and fall again, as though he was quietly sighing to himself. My eyes smarted as they began to brim over with tears. Oh, gracious me; I hadn't wanted to cry in front of him, for I'd always been told that it was a sign of weakness. Children and weak women cried. Men and strong women did not. But telling Mr. Andrews such a personal secret, well, I couldn't help but start sobbing, rather pathetically.

He leaned forward from his position on the desk, reached into the breast pocket of his dress coat, and pulled out a pristine white handkerchief. He opened it out and handed it to me. Oh, if only he'd known just how much even giving me his handkerchief meant to me. In those days, such a gesture was a real act of chivalry from a man to a woman. I accepted the handkerchief and dabbed my eyes with it.

''Thank you, Mr. Andrews. Goodness, I'm so sorry. How awful of me, to be telling you these things and then having the nerve to cry in front of you!"

I felt the sympathetic touch of his hand on my shoulder.

''You don't have a_ nerve,_ my dear. I can see how upset you are. You made a mistake when you were younger. It's obvious you've suffered for quite some time over this. You're being critical of yourself! I have no doubt you miss your daughter. What was the wee one's name, if you don't mind me asking?''

No, I didn't mind him asking. It had felt good to be able to talk about this with someone, after nine years of keeping it locked inside me.

''I called her Marie, sir. My ma's cousin kept that as her first name, but she changed the surname to that of her husband. Very few people in the family know the truth. I think about her every day, Mr. Andrews. She'll be nine now. I don't even know what she looks like. But I shouldn't dwell on matters I can't do anything about.''

Mr. Andrews' eyes looked away from mine and he turned his back to me in silence. Oh gracious, what had I _done_? Had I said too much? Clearly he didn't want to know me any more, for my secret past must've been too much for him to hear. He knew now that I had been cursed with terrible, loose morals. What a fool I'd been, opening my heart to a man so freely! He would no longer think of me as that 'lovely girl'. I wished then, that I hadn't said a single word about my out-of-wedlock child. Standing up from my chair, I decided not to make an awkward situation any worse and thought it would be best to leave his quarters.

''I'm very sorry, Mr. Andrews. I should go now,'' I whispered, feeling overwhelmed as I headed towards the door.

My heavy ankle boots had made a dull thudding sound as I walked along the polished oak floor to make my exit. Mr. Andrews turned around again, as though the sound of my boots had snapped him out of his thoughts.

''No, wait a moment!'' he said suddenly, and went after me.

I stopped short of opening the door.

''You're clearly disappointed in me, Mr. Andrews,'' I said, my hand on the doorknob. ''I told you I'm not the lovely person you thought I was, and you didn't believe me. And there are a lot of other things that aren't nice about me, sir. You just don't know what they are. It's best if I leave now. It's been a long day.''

Towering over me, he gently grasped both of my shoulders with his broad hands.

''I'm not disappointed in you, Mimi. Remember what I said about being human? I don't go back on my word! I feel wretched for you. I really do. I know what it's like to have a child one never sees much of. Come back in, dear. Come on, now.''

I hesitated for a moment, looking up into his eyes. Oh, he was a kind soul. I really hadn't been used to a man treating me so thoughtfully. I nodded my head, closed the door and stood next to him. There was another awkward hesitation, this time for a little longer. He broke the silence first.

''My daughter Elba is just a baby herself,'' he said, looking pained. ''I don't see her much now. I'm missing all her important moments, Mimi. Some of it is my own fault. My wife always told me that I was married to my work, not to her. When I was handed the position at Harland and Wolff, I near enough lived day and night at that shipyard. I was never home for long. Always working hard. No wonder my wife sought comfort with another man... ''

And his voice trailed off. I couldn't believe what he was telling me. I had opened up to him about my own painful situation, and now he was confiding in _me_. I couldn't help, in that moment, feeling rather protective of him. How _dare_ his wife seek the comfort of another man, when she had this wonderful, hard working husband to call her own? How _dare_ she whore herself out, just because her husband was working all the hours God sent? He'd wanted to keep her accustomed to the life she had, and there was a child to provide for. Mrs. Andrews surely did not deserve this man! I could see the pain etched on his face. She'd had a nerve to go to someone else.

Trying to keep my composure, I shook a few loose curls from my face and tilted my chin up.

''You still love her. Am I right, Mr. Andrews?''

A brazen question which I'd had no right to ask. But because I cared about the man, I asked anyway.

He pursed his lips a little, looked down at the floor, and slowly nodded.

''But what can I do? We're estranged. She's quite adamant that my work for _Titanic_ has driven us apart. Perhaps she's right. I do feel like I am married to my work more than my wife. _I_ caused this. It's my fault and I have no right to complain.''

I shook my head, the concern for him showing in my eyes.

''No, you mustn't say that, Mr. Andrews. I don't know your wife, but she's very lucky to have you. There's nothing I wouldn't do, to find a man like you.''

Why I had said such a foolish thing to his face, was a mystery even to me. He was clearly still pining for his wife and believed in his marriage vows. He didn't want me, not in that way.

''Well, you're being very kind, dear Mimi,'' he said, sounding embarrassed.

''I'm being _honest_, that's all.'' I reiterated to him. ''You've shown me such compassion tonight. It's my turn to show you the same. I'm grateful that you... well, don't see me as some sort of dirty prostitute. I'd never meant to be in the family way while being unmarried, sir. You're the only person I've told. That's the God's honest truth. It's too shameful to tell folk what I did. And well, I've hated myself for years because of it. _Years_.''

All these emotive confessions were getting a little too much for me by that point. Without warning, I collapsed into a sobbing heap in his arms. Mr. Andrews, well, he clearly didn't mind at all. I buried my head into his chest, stifling my sobs into the fabric of his dress coat. I felt his arms cover me, holding me closer into his body. _Oh my_. That moment -_ that_ moment. I knew then, that months of being infatuated by this charming, older man, had turned into more. Certainly from _my_ perspective. I couldn't have wanted any man more than Thomas Andrews. But he had a wife, and a child. Despite his wife's extra-marital dalliances, he'd still loved her. He was a gentleman. He was a professional. I knew in my heart that there could never be anything more between him and I. And it was beginning to torture me.

My hidden feelings aside; he'd let me cry it out against his chest, like a true gent. He did nothing untoward in the slightest as we stood there, embracing. He'd just let me have a good old weep, friend to friend. I pulled away from him after two minutes or so, dabbing at my eyelashes again with his handkerchief. I must've looked a shocking sight with my streaky cheeks and red eyes.

"Feeling better now, Mimi?" he inquired, his tone quiet and calming. I could have listened to his vague County Down lilt all day long. My own County Down dialect was still broad, and much harsher on the ears than Mr. Andrews' gentle enunciation.

I nodded in response to his question.

''Yes, Mr. Andrews. Thank you for being so understanding. You're a good man, Mr. Andrews. A good man.''

Well, there was that wonderful smile of his again! He could light up a room with it.

''Please, you must call me Thomas. Let's stop with these formalities. We're friends now, Mimi.''

I was falling blissfully in love, head over heels, floating on cloud number nine. Yes, all the silly, overused cliches you could imagine. That was how I'd felt, standing there with my tear-streaked face in the shipbuilder's quarters aboard the _Titanic_. I brushed my fingers against his arm... accidentally on purpose, of course.

''I'm very happy we've been properly acquainted, _Thomas_.''

He removed his dress coat and hung it up on the coat stand in the corner.

''It's nice to hear you call me that. I think you and I are going to get along very well on this voyage, Mimi. You, er... remind me a little of someone very dear to me.''

I put my hand to my chest and giggled like a small girl.

''I do? Would ye care to tell me who?''

''I'm not sure if I should,'' was his somewhat cryptic response.

An odd thing to say, indeed. But then he took me by surprise and stood right behind me, closely. I felt him press his chest against the top of my shoulders. He reached from behind and skimmed his hands down over my arms, stopping on top of my fingers. His hands were at least three times larger than mine, and much, much stronger. They had to be - those were shipbuilder's hands. _Oh my. _I can remember closing my eyes and leaning backwards into him, feeling his warm breath by the side of my face. Goodness, _yes_. Having downed champagne, brandy and a glass of sherry that evening, Mr. Andrews was starting to behave rather on the tipsy side. This usually impeccable gent was becoming increasingly amorous with me! Did I complain? Certainly not. I'd craved that sort of attention from him.

''Thomas... '' I sighed, my eyes still closed. ''I could stay like this forever,''

He moved his hands and crossed them over my waist, continuing to hold me tenderly from behind. I hadn't experienced a man's touch for over nine years now. It had been quite deliberate, after my shameful out-of-wedlock mistake had terrified me so much. I'd chosen to abstain from meeting men, romantically, and my own mother had scolded me for being _'left on th_e _shelf'._ But several months of pining for Thomas Andrews, a married man, had now resulted in this. Whatever 'this' was. Only twenty minutes before, he'd almost wept for his estranged wife. And now, he was standing in his stateroom holding _me_, a working class stewardess. Desperation for the touch of a woman - _any_ woman? I didn't know what to think. He was giving me mixed signals, but I enjoyed being in his arms for that moment. For me, at least, it was magical.

''Please, Thomas,'' I breathed. I wrapped my fingers around those shipbuilder's hands still situated on my waist. ''I haven't courted a man in years. It's you I want and I can't keep hiding it. I'm falling in love with you. I know it's wrong. But it's how I feel... ''

His face nuzzled my cheek.

''Well, I've certainly, erm... _noticed_... your continuing _interest_... in me. I've always resisted, and you know why.''

My breathing quickened, and my eyes were still closed.

''Of course I know why. But your wife was _unfaithful_ to you, Thomas.''

His own breathing seemed to quicken in time with mine.

''Yes, but that means I have to be the bigger man. I can't be with another woman for the sake of retaliation. That would be juvenile.''

I grazed my lips against his jawline.

''Then what're you doing now, if you're not retaliating against your wife?''

He kissed the nape of my neck.

''I... don't know.''

Hastily, he whirled me around to face him and pulled me into his body. My goodness, I hadn't quite expected that! My heart was racing. With a hunger, he began to smother me with kisses. My knees weakened as he rained them over my cheeks, my chin, and lastly, my lips.

''_Thomas..._'' I gasped. Tingles were spreading across my skin.

I still remember that feeling; I'd wanted to explode! I was giddy to the point of seeing stars. And I couldn't_ read _that man any more. A few drinks in his belly and he'd turned into a different person, but I secretly loved seeing another side to Thomas Andrews. Even now, in my old age, I can truthfully say that not one other man had the same effect on me as he did. I feel quite flustered even just _thinking _about what happened next! Proof, that love lives forever.

You may be wondering if Mr. Andrews and I consummated our relationship that evening. I shall put you all out of your misery and tell you that yes, indeed we did. I_ shan't_ go into the details! Our first time together happened on his desk, in the midst of the rolled-up blueprints and his handwritten papers. Yes, the papers had ended up on the floor again. I cannot imagine why! It was satisfying to both of us, and that's all I will say. But I did not stay the night with him. We knew we were doing things we shouldn't have been doing, but we didn't want anybody else to know at the time. People were very judgemental in those days, and I certainly didn't fancy idle gossip following me around for the next two weeks onboard the liner. Mr. Andrews didn't either. He'd always been a private person, a man who'd kept himself to himself.

I tiptoed back to my own cabin at one o'clock in the morning. I was floating on air by the time I'd climbed into my little bed, and I barely slept for the rush of adrenaline. His smell was still on my hands, in my hair, and all over me. For the first time in years, I'd let go of my repressed feelings towards being with a man. Perhaps, rather stupidly - given my experience of having a child out-of-wedlock - the thought of becoming pregnant again had never even crossed my mind. Back then, taking precautions was only in its infancy, and most couples relied on nature, or pure luck. Neither myself, nor Mr. Andrews, had given it any thought. This was no surprise, as our first intimate moment had been so spontaneous. In any case, I believed that if a pregnancy should result from this or another encounter with him, he would take care of me like any real man would've done. Had I been with someone else, I'd never have taken the chance.

I don't wish for my tale of what happened that evening, to read like a sordid, drunken encounter between two people who were desperate for any form of affection. It really wasn't that way at all. We'd connected with each other, before our physical interactions became, well, something of a regularity onboard the _Titanic_. But our hush-hush relationship would not be without its problems. Some were bigger than others, and I knew I'd had no right to complain. I became Thomas Andrews' scarlet woman: maid by day, mistress by night. Sometimes he pushed me away out of guilt, other times he'd come begging to my cabin in the middle of the night. And, immoral though it was, I was enjoying every minute of it. You probably think of me in a very different light now than you did before...


	5. A Shipbuilder's Shame

**Author's Note: **I'm touched by the response and the interest in this story, so thank you for the reviews.

(_Usual disclaimer_: No disrespect to real persons intended in this work, don't own Mr. A or Titanic, Mimi is mine, etc.)

**Also** - The lady I picture to portray Mimi is a British actress called **Perdita Weeks**. She actually played a first class passenger in the recent_ Julian Fellowes: Titanic_ mini-series. How's that for a coincidence?

* * *

**_Chapter 5: A Shipbuilder's Shame _  
**

_April 10th, 1912_

Upon waking the next morning, I was first greeted by the low rumble of the ship's engines and the steady vibration throughout the floor. There were times when it was more noticeable, and usually moreso when the ship was picking up speed. _Titanic_ was so overwhelming in size and scale that she needed tremendous force to move along the sea. At that moment, I'd had no idea where we were in relation to Southampton, but we'd been travelling for around sixteen hours. We couldn't have been too far if our estimated time of arrival at the docking port was ten o'clock that morning. I'd glanced at the clock across the room and it was already half past seven. I had to wash and dress in my freshly laundered and pressed maid unform, before heading into my first day of employment aboard the magnificent liner. To say I was excited about such a monumental occasion -_ Titanic_'s first ever passenger voyage across the Atlantic to New York - well, was an understatement!

But there was also the little matter of one Mr. Thomas Andrews, to deal with too. I stood in front of the vanity unit, looking in the mirror as I brushed out the knots from my mass of shoulder length curls. I had wondered what on earth I would say to him that day. The previous night had been one which I had enjoyed very much, to put it mildly. I had fallen so far in love with the man! All those months of seeing him just in passing and nothing more, suddenly leading to such unbridled passion. It was what dreams were made of. I smiled at the thought, watching my reflection in the mirror as I carried on brushing my knotted hair. I was trying to decide what I was going to say, and how I should even approach the subject with Mr. Andrews. I knew I would see him that day at some point, though of course it was inevitable that he would be extremely rushed off of his feet. I needed to _know_, though. I needed to know what was happening now, between us. After all, _I _had been quite sober the previous evening. Mr. Andrews had been the one who'd lined his stomach with copious amounts of champagne, brandy and sherry. Perhaps his judgement had been clouded by the flow of alcohol and the merryment of the occasion. Mr. Andrews clearly still loved his wife, despite her infidelity. She was a _damned_ lucky woman. If I'd have had my way, he would leave her and come to me. _I_ would love him in a way that a wife should. _I_ would have children for him. But I predicted he was too noble and dignified to even consider leaving his wife as any kind of option. Divorce was a rarity in those days, and anyone who did venture down that road, was scorned upon by others. I knew Mr. Andrews was not the kind of man to even entertain such an idea. But I had intended to make my feelings clear on the matter - yes, that he should've been with _me_! What a girl wants...

**...**

The starched black and white maid uniform had made my appearance seem more prim and proper than I'd been feeling, that was for certain. The skirt was down to my ankles, the neckline was high, the apron around my middle was a virginal, sparkling white. I wore regulation thick, black, knee high stockings underneath, with black lace-up ankle boots. Every inch the maid, ready for servicing duties whenever I was required. How would Mr. Andrews be able to resist my high neckline and lack of any exposed flesh (well, with the exclusion of my face)? Of course, I'm only being silly, but I believe these days that maid's outfits can be used for dressing up to titilate men with. Though I've heard that the hemlines are slightly higher and there is a lot more neck exposed...

Glancing over at the clock on the dresser, I decided that I could possibly catch Mr. Andrews if I left my room now, before housekeeping work for the day was to begin. One thing I did know for sure was that the master shipbuilder liked to be up and about earlier than most people. Up with the larks, so to speak. Never a minute to waste, time was always of the essence to Mr. Andrews. Knowing of his obsessive need to be punctual, I headed out of my cabin half an hour before I was due to begin my work. I was nervous about seeing him again, no doubt about it.

I took the lift to A Deck, where where his luxury stateroom was situated, and hurried down the hall to his door. I hesitated at first, took a deep breath, and knocked. Heart thumping, I waited. No answer. Again, I knocked, this time a little louder. Still no answer. Well, I had no idea where he could've been but he certainly wasn't in his quarters. Disappointed and still apprehensive, I turned on my heel and went back the way I came. I wrung my hands in front of me as I waited for the lift to come back. It was then that I heard a familiar voice echoing through the corridor, further up. Of course, there he was, my adored master shipbuilder, walking briskly along with Bruce Ismay beside him. Clearly, they were talking about professional matters relating to the ship, and their conversation seemed to be getting rather heated. Maybe now was not the right time to be approaching Mr. Andrews about personal matters. He was clutching a small black notebook in one hand and a pen in the other, scribbling down... well, whatever it was, while walking and not looking ahead. Ismay's voice was quite shrill in comparison to his.

''... I mean it when I say I want this voyage to be the number one talking point all around the world. You built this queen for speed, as well as comfort! Why shouldn't we take her a little faster after Cherbourg? Think of the _headlines_, Andrews!''

Mr. Andrews sounded exasperated already with the man.

''Mr. Ismay, we don't want to interfere with safety_._ It isn't advisable to take the ship much faster once we leave Cherbourg tomorrow. Just enjoy the voyage for what it is. Enjoy the luxury of this boat and all she has to offer! Headlines are not that important.''

They both rushed past me, very much wrapped up in their argument and continuing to bicker all the way down the corridor, without one word to me. Not _one_ word. I may as well have not even been there - completely invisible to the man who'd slept with me the night before. Well, I couldn't pretend that his blanking me didn't stab me through the heart._ Maybe I should go after him_, I thought. Less than a second later, I decided against that.

''Going down, miss?'' the lift operator, who'd been waiting patiently, asked me.

Feeling dejected, I stepped into the lift and nodded my head as he closed the gate after me.

Back in my room, I still had enough time before my very first shift on _Titanic_ started. I remember sitting down solemnly on the edge of the bed, tears starting to sting my eyes, nursing my broken heart.

_Oh for goodness' sake, Mimi Monaghan, pull yourself together, _I scolded myself.

I had to get rid of any delusions of my own importance. I was clearly way down Mr. Andrews' list of priorities, and maybe I had to accept that our tryst had meant nothing to him after all. Perhaps for Mr. Andrews, I'd just been a means to an end to release pent-up emotional and physical frustrations. Accepting that this seemed highly likely, made it harder for me. I was more smitten than before.

My first housekeeping duties that day consisted of making several of the second class staterooms look as neat and as presentable as possible, for the new arrivals coming in from Southampton. I was going through the motions, and not quite concentrating on the tasks at hand as well as I could've been. Not a good start to my first day's work aboard the _Titanic_! In my mind, I chided myself for having been so gullible. What would an intelligent, married man, one whose attention to detail was responsible for the design of this wonderful ship, see in a penniless working class ship's maid like me, anyway. I'd behaved like a whore the night before and I deserved to be punished for that. Mr. Andrews was much too classy for me. No wonder he hadn't wanted to acknowledge me; his snub in the corridor said all I needed to know about his regrets over last night.I carried on with my laundry duties, trying hard, but failing, to keep Mr. Andrews out of my mind.

...

At nine o'clock, I took a short break from my housekeeping chores in second class, as the ship would be docking in Southampton in about an hour. I made myself a pot of English tea in the steward's dining area, and took my steaming cup out to the nearby promenade deck. I hadn't had much opportunity to take in the grandeur of the outside of the ship since we set sail the day before; I'd spent most of my time inside. Now was the first instance I'd had to see what the _Titanic_ experience was like from the outside decks as she glided through the English water. It was very invigorating; the fresh sea air filled my lungs, and I inhaled slowly though my nostrils, closing my eyes for a moment to savour the briskness of the breeze. I walked forward to survey my surroundings, looking out over the water from behind the safety railings. Standing on the ledge in front, I grasped the railing with my free hand. My dress and apron billowed a little in the breeze, and a few stray curls whisped into my face. I pushed them back behind my ear and smiled to myself, taking a sip from my teacup. I was used to being on boats, so decks and endless seaviews were nothing new to me. But every small detail of the_ Titanic_, even out on deck, was a sight to behold. Mr. Andrews and his team of shipbuilders were certainly sticklers for detail and perfection. What a wonder she was, this grand liner. And standing out on the promenade, an hour before the hustle and bustle of picking up the first load of passengers from Southampton, was such a peaceful experience. There would be soon be several hundred people of all classes onboard. The tranquility would be shattered and I knew I'd better savour it while I could. Even the sound of ascending footsteps coming up behind me couldn't snap me out of my dreamlike state.

''Er... I do beg your pardon. Mimi?''

I knew that voice. I hadn't expected to have much contact with him today after the way he'd ignored me in the corridor. Deciding to give him the same treatment in return, I didn't look round and I didn't respond. He stood next to me, but kept a small space between us.

''_Miss Monaghan?_'' he tried again, being formal.

Well, fine. First name basis the night before when he'd encouraged me to behave improperly. Last name basis now that he wanted to distance himself from me. I should've known! Still, I refused to make eye contact with him.

''What do you want, Mr. Andrews?''

I could smell his cologne gently pervading the space around me. You must excuse me for being a touch crude here; but whatever male scent he was wearing that morning, it reminded me of when I'd nipped at his neck with my teeth. Being desperate for his love and attention, I'd wanted to leave a mark of ownership on him. I hadn't drawn blood, but I did remember seeing a tiny bruise. He hadn't complained; he'd wanted me to do it again, if truth be told. Standing there then on the promenade, I didn't even look to see if my handiwork was still visible on his neck. Well, it was probably covered by the starched collar of his dress shirt. I sipped my tea again and continued to keep my eyes on the distant shoreline. There was a pause, before Mr. Andrews spoke.

''I'd just like to apologise for not acknowledging you when I saw you this morning. I hope you understand my position. Mr. Ismay was being very difficult and it wasn't the right time. I hadn't expected to see you there. I'd planned to talk with you later in the day.''

I still refused to take me eyes off the view.

''Is that _so_, Mr. Andrews?''

''Yes, that is so.''

Another pause, and he shifted in front of me, forcing me to look at him.

''Mimi,'' he said softly, but with a sheepish tone in his voice. ''I-I'm deeply ashamed of my behaviour last night.''

I rolled my eyes heavenwards and shook my head.

''I can see that.''

''It was _incredibly_ inappropriate,'' he continued. ''I'm a married man, as you well know. I was... well, I'm ashamed to say, I was rather intoxicated by the alcohol last night,''

''You don't say!" I scoffed.

''Oh, Mimi, I'm generally not a drinker. I'm sorry I behaved like a deviant and I feel terrible for allowing... well... _this_... to happen. And I want to apologise for leading you on. You're a lovely girl! I meant it when I said it last night. But we cannot repeat any intimacies.''

I snapped my head to the side bitterly, making sure I had eye contact with him this time. I searched from one eye to the other, making sure he could gauge my anger.

''So what _was_ I to you, Thomas? Little more than a common _prostitute_? Your wife has been lying on her back for someone else, so you think it gives you the right to use the first infatuated woman to hand? If that's the way you feel, you should at least give me a financial reward for my services. I could earn a good fortune by the time we get to New York, if you pay me by the hour! Perhaps you could recommend my services to your friend Mr. Ismay next. Or what about Captain Smith? All acts of sexual depravaty catered for, all men on the _Titanic_ welcome. Courtesy of Mimi Monaghan, eh? I feel quite invalidated!"

It seemed that he'd expected a feisty tirade from me, given the situation.

''I won't deny that I deserve your cutting remarks, Miss Mimi.''

''Well, I'm glad you agree!'' I snorted back at him. ''You took advantage of me. I won't allow it to happen again. I've been in love with you for _months_. I opened my heart to you. What you did last night gave me hope that we could be together! Can't you _see_ that, Thomas?''

Sheepishly, he nodded his head.

''I can see that. Miss Mimi, I feel disappointed with myself for hurting you. I can only apologise again.''

''You can keep your apologies, _Mister _Andrews. Leave me alone. Go back to your wife when you dock in Belfast in two weeks' time. Yes, go back to the wife who doesn't _want _you because you're too obsessive about your work. The same wife who frequents someone else's bed because _you're_ always at the shipyard. Go on. She obviously has no conscience in using people.'' I flashed him my fiercest look. When I was in the throes of anger, my green eyes could be very piercing. I stepped close into his body space. ''And neither do you!''

I slammed my cup and saucer down on the ledge, spun on my heel, and ran off down the length of the promenade, tears stinging my eyes. I was still hopelessly in love with the man. That was why his actions had hurt me so badly, despite the insults I'd just thrown in his face. What we'd done the night before had been special to me, but I'd been nothing more than the convenient substitute in his cheating wife's absence. Cheap thrills, I suppose you could say. And I knew exactly what I was going to do to get my own back on him. As I tearfully ran down that promenade, I was already brewing up a plan in my emotion-addled head. Such a fantastic start to my employment onboard the_ R.M.S. Titanic_! A couple of days at sea and already my life was starting to resemble an overly-dramatic romance novel.


	6. A Man And His Money

**Author's Note: **As always, a big thank you to those who have faved/subbed and reviewed.

(Usual disclaimer about not owning Victor Garber as Thomas Andrews or the DeWitt Bukaters/Caledon Hockley/anything Titanic related. Mimi is mine.)

* * *

**_Chapter 6: A Man And His Money_  
**

I'd needed to go to my cabin to calm myself down after my frank outburst to Mr. Andrews. Perhaps what I'd said to him had been a little ridiculous, not to mention inappropriate. But I couldn't hide how much he'd hurt me the evening before. He was precious to me, and to be nothing more than his whore was something I hadn't wanted. I sat on the bed and sobbed my heart out into my pillow, aware that I had to contain my upset as soon as possible. The ship was picking up speed again, which meant Southampton Dock was beckoning fast.

Taking a few minutes to compose myself, I dabbed my eyes with the same cotton handkerchief Mr. Andrews had lent to me the night before. I'd intended on laundering it before giving it back to him.

_How shall I take revenge?_ I'd thought to myself._ I must come up with a form of punishment for that man!_

_Shall I make him believe I'm expecting his child?_

_No...that wouldn't work. It'd be much too soon for him to be fooled by anything like that. _

_Shall I write a letter to his wife and tell her that I've bedded her husband?_

_Hmm. Whilst this idea is very tempting, I'm not sure if I could go through with it. And maybe she won't even care whose bed he lies in! _

I'd wanted to seek revenge of some sort, I just wasn't quite sure what. Well, I would have all day to think about it, and today was already promising to be very lengthy. I was convinced that I would have something in mind by sunset. I wasn't going to let Mr. Andrews down gently over his shameful treatment.

**...**

My face washed of tears, my cheeks freshly rouged and my nose lightly powdered, I gathered my thoughts together and headed out of my room. I trotted briskly along the corridor and made my way up to the promenade deck outside. Southampton Dock was now very visible on the horizon, which meant we would be anchoring within several minutes.

I headed to the same set of railings I'd been to earlier, where I'd directed my tirade of insults to Mr. Andrews' face. He was long gone, as I'd expected. The sea air was salty, I noted, and the breeze was chilly but gentle. I turned my head slightly, narrowing my eyes to make out the sight of the hundreds of people coming into view at the dock. This was the beginning of_ Titanic_'s first official voyage. These would be the lucky ones to set foot inside this grandiose ship for the very first time. They were in for something special; something luxurious, something as magnificent in size as she was beautiful. If I could've just forgotten about Mr. Andrews for more than two minutes, then I would've felt more excitement about the adventure I was about to be a part of.

My assistance in the second class section of the ship was not yet required; I had fulfilled all my housekeeping duties inside the rooms, and I would be needed again soon enough. But it was the job of the ticket collectors, immigration officers and the stewards to make sure people boarded safely and that the correct documentation had been checked. These men were the first port of call for the nine-hundred-strong passenger list. Maids would be needed once people were boarded and in the process of settling into their rooms.

The ship took several minutes to reduce speed completely. Once stationary, the anchors were lowered and the gangways were hoisted into place. The atmosphere from the dock was nothing less than electric; there was no other way to describe it. Anticipation levels were high, not only from the people gathered at the dock and the passengers about to board, but also from the ship's staff. Some of my fellow maids, from both the first and second class decks of the ship, proceeded to join me in watching the excitement, from behind the railings.

''This is going to be interesting,'' I'd overheard one maid - an English girl, named Joan - say to another. ''I was eavesdropping on a conversation between Mr. Ismay and Mr. Andrews. It seems we have the DeWitt Bukaters and Caledon Hockley boarding today!"

The other maid, whose name I wasn't familiar with yet, gasped out loud and turned to Joan.

''_The_ DeWitt Bukaters and _the_ Caledon Hockley?'' she repeated, sounding somewhat surprised.

''The very same!" Joan replied. ''Yes, this _will _be very interesting. You know what they say about those dreadful DeWitt Bukater women. The mother _and_ the daughter,''

"Yes, I've heard a few things,'' the other maid said, then added, ''though the daughter does appear to be some sort of awful nightmare, from what I gather. No wonder the mother has to marry her off! Hockley will need to keep a tight leash on that spoiled brat,"

Both maids laughed with shrill, witch-like tones.

Well, weren't _they _the pleasant ones?

I'd had no clue who these people were - the DeWitt Bukaters or this Caledon Hockley man. The only thing I did know, was that they were boarding first class with all the other millionaires. Oh, the _rich _people. But as for any significance they were to anything, I'd had no idea. I was just a working class girl at heart, and wealth and social standing were of little importance to me. Even now, as a worker aboard the_ Titanic_ itself, millionaires didn't impress me much. Mr. Andrews was a middle class man with money, yes. But It was not his money I cared about. He could have been bankrupt, and I still would've wanted him in my bed.

The throngs of people below began to descend towards the ship. There was some order at first, and other times it became pandemonium. I was glad I was not a steward or an officer, being left to deal with hundreds of overzealous passengers pushing their way up the gangplanks. It was noisy, and people from all class divides were in attendance. Even those with a working class background climbed onboard; people much like myself.

My fellow maids - or, should I say more appropriately, 'witches' - caught sight of these DeWitt Bukaters and Caledon Hockley, as they ascended up the gangway below.

''She's very well dressed. The daughter, that is,'' one said to the other. ''Look at the size of that hat she's wearing!"

''Oh yes, and Caledon Hockley is more handsome than I imagined,'' her friend commented.

They sounded like a couple of gossiping old fishwives, but I couldn't help look below to see these rich people they were referring to.

Indeed, the younger one - the daughter - was an immaculately dressed girl. Her wide brimmed hat was covering her face, but I could tell from her posture and her graceful movement that she was concentrating hard on living up to her social expectations. She had the arm of a tall, suited man wearing a bowler hat. The aforementioned Caledon Hockley, I presumed. Lingering behind only slightly, was a stern faced woman, also well dressed. The mother, I imagined. I was glad, at that point, not to be a maid on A Deck. I didn't want to be responding to the extravagant demands of overbearingly superior people like those.

**...**

It was proving to be quite the busy day. The hustle and the bustle was rather overwhelming at times. I did not see Mr. Andrews at all for most of it, other than once while I was passing by the first class dining area. He didn't see me; he was conversing with Mr. Ismay and the DeWitt Bukaters. The young lady, I noticed, had since removed her hat. She was quite the stunning little thing, with her porcelain white skin, bee stung lips and the reddest mass of curly hair I had ever seen. Her curvacious body shape was something I could only imagine to have. This young lady was like something out of a silent picture film; a very beautiful girl.

I stopped for a brief moment, as I noticed Mr. Andrews smiling at her quite keenly.

_Don't even think about it, mister!_

I actually remember saying that in my head, as if to scold Mr. Andrews. He wasn't doing anything untoward or remotely inappropriate; just standing there like a gentleman, in conversation. He was looking Miss DeWitt Bukater in the eye as they spoke, and I admit that I felt a pang of envy. But this was, quite plainly, ridiculous. He wasn't even mine to behave so possessively over. And of course, he was allowed to converse with anyone he so wished to. I was just being irrational. Remembering then that I had to go and collect some fresh towels from the laundry room, I hurried on my way.

The rest of my working day had been quite eventful, but that was only to be expected on the first day of_ Titanic_'s voyage. We would be travelling overnight from Southampton to Cherbourg in France, to pick up more passengers. Tomorrow we would stop at Queenstown, in the south of Ireland, for the last passengers boarding. Queenstown would be our last port of call before crossing the Atlantic to New York.

**...**

I'd sighed with relief when my first shift was over and I could actually get some well earned rest. I'd been on my feet for ten hours solid, without any sort of break. I was about ready to fall asleep, standing up, in my room. I had managed to brush out my hair and put on my nightgown, at least. I'd been so overworked and so tired, that thinking of ways to avenge Mr. Andrews hadn't even crossed my mind over the course of the day. There was always tomorrow for that, anyway.

Pulling the covers of the bed back, I was startled by an unexpected knock on the door. Frowning, I padded towards the doorway and meagrely whispered, ''Um...who's there?''

The answer came. Who else could it have been?

''It's Thomas Andrews, Miss Mimi. May I see you?'

I was dressed in my nightgown, for goodness sake. It was almost eleven o'clock at night. What on earth was he doing there at such an ungodly hour? And after earlier, what was he even doing at my door at _all_? Too tired to argue with him about the time, I opened the door. He was standing sheepishly, still fully dressed in his trilby hat and blazer from earlier in the day. I peered out past him, down the corridor, to see if there was anyone else around. Thankfully not. I hadn't wanted any more tongues to be wagging than was necessary. I looked back up at him.

''_Why_ are you here?''

He blinked, nervously.

''Well, I-I need to speak to you. About...um, well, this morning. I'm sorry if I've disturbed your sleep, Miss Mimi. I've been running around this ship all day long, and I spent quite a bit of time with the DeWitt Bukaters today.''

_I had noticed,_ I thought.

''_Mister_ Andrews,'' I said, clearing my throat so that my voice conveyed better. I was going to continue to be formal, at least until he'd got the message. ''I thought I'd made it clear to you this morning. I'm _finished_ with talking to you. I won't to let you take advantage of me again. Really, we have nothing to discuss,''

''But I think we do,'' he said quietly, shifting from foot to foot apprehensively.

I was having none of it. I didn't have the time, nor the emotional energy, to be tossed around again by Mr. Sanctimonious.

''Good_night_, Mr. Andrews,'' I said without any further ado, and closed the door in his face.

For a moment, I waited there, knowing he was still on the outside of the door. I hadn't heard any retreating footsteps. Several seconds passed and there was another knock.

''Mr. Andrews, please leave!'' I called out, not even opening the door.

''Not until I speak with you,'' he retorted.

I rolled my eyes and heaved a sigh, knowing that the only way to get rid of him was to let him in. I hadn't wanted to, if only to save myself from any more heartache. But I opened the door again and ushered him in, regardless.

''Thank you,'' he said, removing his hat in a gentlemanly fashion and holding it to his chest. He nervously brushed the fingers of his other hand through his hair.

Tired and annoyed, I was quite stern with him.

''I don't _want_ to speak to you. I only let you in to keep you from disturbing everyone else.''

''I understand that,'' he said, fidgeting with the brim of his hat. ''But I need to say something to you. Please, let me explain,''

''Explain what? That you used me like a _prostitute_ last night? Well, I already know that. Have you recommended me to Ismay yet?"

It was never really a good idea for a man to antagonise me. Most of the time, I had an easy going nature. But when I was irritated, I could be caustic and dripping with sarcasm, which Mr. Andrews had found out earlier that day.

''You _know_ I don't think of you as a prostitute," he said, shaking his head.

''Well, I think you do,'' I told him truthfully, then paused for a moment before continuing. There was a sudden glint in my eye. I _could _go somewhere with this. ''I do hope you've got my payment in your coat pocket, Mr. Andrews - or I'll have no choice but to inform the Master At Arms. You owe me for last night, and I was with you for three hours. Remember the services I provided for you? I have the list in my head, and I will remind you now. Let me see: kissing with open mouths, then followed by me giving you oral pleasure down below, with full intercourse to finish. My, that's going to _cost_ you, Mr. Andrews! Remember, I charge by the hour...''

Mr. Andrews was taken aback, his brown eyes suddenly much wider and his facial expression changing to one of confusion.

''Miss Mimi, I don't use prostitutes. And I certainly don't intend to_ pay _you for last night! That's not the way it was between us," he gasped, his voice catching with uncertainty in his throat.

''Well then, _get out_!" I shouted at him unreservedly, pointing towards the door.

Flustered, Mr. Andrews moved to leave, but stopped again and turned back to face me.

''You're not _serious _about asking for payment, Miss Mimi?''

''Why on earth wouldn't I be?'' I instantly spat back .

I'd never seen him look so perplexed.

''But that _would_ make you a common prostitute!"

''Well, at least I'm being paid for something I'm damned good at _doing_, Mr. Andrews,'' I retorted, my face deadpan.

He had no reply to that. His jaw was practically on the floor.

It seems rather cruel now, looking back on it. I do remember this little game being such fun. He didn't _know_ I was playing games with him, of course. He was falling for everything I was saying. I hadn't been at all serious about asking him for payment; I was doing this to get a rise out of him and to make him feel guilty. My revenge; punishing him for treating me like something he'd trodden on. It was amusing to see him squirming and getting so worked up. Mimi Monaghan was the one in control of the situation now! Gone was the blushing, giggling woman who couldn't even glance at Mr. Andrews without a fit of the butterflies. In her place was the newly improved, much more headstrong Mimi Monaghan.

_(For perhaps five minutes, that was)._

''I must insist on this, Mr. Andrews,'' I reiterated, confidently keeping eye contact. ''Pay me for my services.''

He just blinked, then nodded slowly.

''Very well, then,'' he sighed. ''If asking for payment is your way of teaching me some sort of lesson, then I accept defeat. I will have your money with you tomorrow. But you mustn't _cheapen_ yourself, dear girl. You're better than that. I had come here this evening to offer my sincerest apologies to you. I could see how much I'd upset you today. I still think you're a lovely girl, so I do. A lovely girl,''

His brown eyes had softened and there was now a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Stepping forward towards me, he held his palm up to my face and began to stroke the apple of my cheek, softly.

''I deserve all the punishment you see fit to inflict on me,'' he whispered.

My heart had begun to pound faster; the tone of his voice and the touch of his hand on my face was all it had taken. How on earth could I stay angry with him, when he wasn't fighting back against my stupid demands of financial reward?

Looking up into his eyes, I took his hand as he continued to caress my cheek.

''I do believe I may have to punish you rather a _lot _on this voyage, Mr. Andrews.''

My tone was deliberately petulant, but also slightly playful.

He gave a quiet chuckle, and that hint of a smile then expanded further over his lips.

''That would be quite possible, young lass.''

Without any warning, he leaned in to my face and placed a tender kiss on the very tip of my nose. _Oh my_. I remember how surprised I'd been by him doing that; it was the sweetest little gesture, different to kissing one's cheek or one's forehead. I found it very endearing. I'd closed my eyes without even thinking; they were still shut when his lips had left the end of my nose.

I could sense that Mr. Andrews was not within my close proximity any more, and I heard his footsteps retreating to the doorway. Opening my eyes again quickly, I looked over to him. His smile was warm and gentle.

''Goodnight, Mimi. If ye still wish for payment, I'll take care of it tomorrow.''

He turned the doorknob and went to walk away, then stopped and put his finger in the air, as if he'd suddenly remembered something.

''Oh, one more thing,'' he added. ''I would like to thank ye for a hard day's work on the first day of our maiden voyage. Don't be thinking I've forgotten about the people who run the ship from day to day, now. Everyone is valuable, here,''

I felt my cheeks blush to a rosy hue.

''That's very kind of you to say, Mr. Andrews.''

He placed his hat back on his head, and tipped the brim as a chivalrous goodbye gesture.

''Remember, Mimi. It's _Thomas_.''

And with that, he departed the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Well, what had I made of that little exchange? It hadn't exactly gone as I'd planned. My 'make him suffer for what he's done' resolve had very quickly disappeared, at the mere touch of his hand on my face and the kiss on my nose. I was clearly useless at plotting for revenge.

_No, Mimi!_ I scolded myself in my head. _Don't fall in love any further with this man. He can never be yours. Stupid, delusional girl!_

It was much too late for all that, though. There _was_ something there between us; sometimes bubbling under the surface, and at other times plain as the day is long. But I'd changed my mind about not being serious, regarding the issue of money. I now planned on accepting his payment for our sexual liasion the night before - hopefully to serve as a lesson to Mr. Andrews for leading me on and playing with my feelings. A man had to learn the hard way; and there was no more of a fool, than a man and his money.


	7. An Invitation Declined

**Author's Note:** Hello again. As always, a big thank you to all the latest faves/reviews.

I won't bother with the usual disclaimers this time, because everyone knows I don't own Victor Garber, Mr. Andrews or Titanic.

* * *

**_Chapter 7: An Invitation Declined_  
**

_April 11th, 1912_

It was already early morning, and I'd been up with the larks. As it was, I was never the best sleeper when we were at sea, but my mind was also preoccupied with other things. By seven o'clock, I was already dressed for the working day in my stewardess uniform and apron. It was unusual for me to be so time efficient, but I just hadn't been able to sleep very well. The Queenstown stop was next on the agenda that day, and Mr. Andrews was occupying my thoughts as always. Did I _really _want to take money from him? I'd spent some of the night thinking it over and wondering if perhaps my little game of revenge had gone too far. I hadn't actually wanted financial payment._ It's not about money; it's about sending a message, _I thought to myself_. _Still unsure of what to do, I decided just to bite the bullet and pay the man a discreet visit in his quarters. I hoped that there wouldn't be a repeat of what had happened the previous morning, where he'd just ignored me in the corridor.

Feeling like I had done all of this before, I ventured off to Mr. Andrews' private cabin as I'd done so yesterday, and knocked at his door. Footsteps ascended on the wooden floor a moment later, and he answered. I stifled the girliest giggle behind my hand, at the sight of Mr. Andrews with shaving cream lathered all over his face and a shaving knife in one hand, towel flung over his shoulder. Before you wonder, no - he was not shirtless! He was wearing his usual crisp white shirt and waistcoat, no tie, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. I certainly appreciated what I saw, though. There was something quite masculine about seeing a man in the process of shaving.

He seemed very surprised that I was standing there at his door, not long past seven o'clock in the morning.

"_Mimi_!" he gasped, frowning. "Er, is something the matter? What are you doing here at this early hour?"

"Oh. I'm sorry to disturb you, Thomas," I said shyly, blushing and playing with my hands nervously. "I needed to see you about something. It's not an emergency, don't you worry. I just wanted to... well... may I come in?"

He nodded and ushered me in quickly, knowing that if anybody had walked past, tongues would start wagging. Wiping his shaving knife clean with a cloth, he then stood in front of a large gilt-edged mirror near the washroom area. I watched as he positioned his knife against the white lather on his face.

"So, what's on yer mind, dear?"

I stood beside him, as he moved the shaving knife over the contours of his face. So very masculine. I keep using that word, I realise, but my hormones were certainly all over the place in this man's presence! I was swooning and he seemed to cotton on to it.

"Um, well... "

He gave a masterful swipe of the knife across the lather over his jawline, looking tentatively in the mirror as he did so.

"Spit it out, Mimi. I have a busy schedule ahead of me today."

Wringing my hands in front of my apron, I was certainly rather tongue-tied. Mr. Andrews wiped some more shaving cream from his knife with the flannel, switching his eyes from the mirror to me.

"Oh_, I_ know what it is!" he said, clicking his fingers as it dawned on him. "The money, isn't it? I'll take care of that for you shortly. I have it in my safe,"

_I don't want your money, darling. _

But I didn't say those words aloud to him. I didn't know why; perhaps I'd decided that I had to go ahead with accepting his money anyway. Teaching him a lesson, sending him a message, whatever I wanted to refer to it as.

"I'm not in a rush for it, Mr. Andrews," I said, sounding rather meek.

"Goodness me," he chuckled, looking back into the mirror and continuing to shave. ''What have I told ye about all this formal name business, eh?"

Staring down at the floor, I smiled and shifted my feet, feeling quite bashful.

"Sorry - _Thomas_."

He looked at my reflection to the right of him, in the mirror.

"That's more like it, dear! I think our friendship transcends the bounds of such formalities, now, don't you agree?"

Well, that had certainly been _one _way of putting it. My heart had been pounding, ten to the dozen, while standing there. He didn't seem to mind me watching him shave, but I did wonder if my being there was a touch too intrusive.

"Maybe I'll come back later. I know you're busy," I decided, making my excuses and heading over towards the door.

"Oh, no need!" he chirped, finishing the last part of his chin. ''I'll be onto it in two minutes."

For the final time, he wiped the shaving knife and towelled off his face. _Oh my._ There was nothing more attractive than a freshly shaven man first thing in the morning. I couldn't hide my satisfaction, a smile playing on my lips. He could see it too. Stupid was something he was not.

"No nicks today!" he said proudly, examining his reflection in the mirror before turning back to me again.

"Yes, it looks very smooth," I gushed in return.

"A close shave," he agreed, proceeding to roll his sleeves down and buttoning up his cuffs. He paused, then continued with a slightly huskier tone to his voice. "Would ye care to feel how close a shave it _is_?"

Was Mr. Andrews _flirting_ with me? Again? Goodness gracious, he should've known better by now. Once bitten, twice shy, so to speak.

_Try and stop me, Thomas._

I didn't have to say anything aloud - he'd already known what my reaction would be. He took my hand and held it against his freshly shaven skin, starting with his cheek and moving it down his jawline.

"I'm an expert with a shaving knife, even if I do say so myself," he said, a mischievous grin expanding over his lips.

"Smooth and soft," I breathed flirtatiously, shifting myself closer into his space. My fingers continued caressing the surface of his jawline. Gently, he took my hand and lowered it down by my side, away from him. He tilted his head and moved in close to my face, brushing his lips against mine. But he did not kiss me. We looked at one another, our eyes meeting and holding.

"I told you yesterday, Thomas," I gasped, feeling quite overwhelmed by the power of pheromones in the air. "I won't let you do this to me again."

He took my chin in the crook of his finger and lifted my head up gently.

"I know, Mimi. I'll be atoning for my sins from the other night, don't ye worry about that. But I do like you, young lady. A _lot_. I shouldn't do, as a married man. I can't help it. Oh, God will strike me down for this."

He leaned in to my lips and pressed his against mine, so softly. Heavens alive, this was what I wanted from him. But I knew I was a fool for letting myself be taken in by his charms, once again. Who was once bitten, twice shy, now? Not him. I kissed him back more forcefully, pressing both of my hands against his cheeks as I did so. And we both jumped away from each other, startled, at the sound of a loud knocking on the door of the cabin. Who on _earth_ would that be? It wasn't even breakfast time yet.

I'd become quite breathless at the touch of his lips on mine, and now I was panicking because no-one else knew I was in this room with this married man. We both looked over at the door, and then back at each other.

"_Andrews, old boy_!" a shrill male voice called from in the corridor.

Wide eyed, Mr. Andrews motioned for me to escape into the washroom.

"It's Ismay! You have to hide!" he hissed, gesticulating with his arms to prompt me to hide from sight.

So I did, quickly. I made a dash to the washroom and closed the door behind me, trying to steady my breathing. Had Mr. Ismay not showed up, I'm quite sure Mr. Andrews and I would've had another little intimate moment somewhere in his cabin. The bed would've been nice, but I wasn't the fussy kind. I was somewhat annoyed that we'd been interrupted. But there again, nobody had known I was even in there. Mr. Andrews was always presumed to be alone, and as yet, nobody suspected the stolen moments we'd had been having.

Being unashamedly nosey, I pressed my ear against the washroom door to eavesdrop on the conversation between Mr. Ismay and Mr. Andrews. Rather interesting it was, too.

_"Good morning, Andrews!"_

_"Ah, good morning, Mr. Ismay. What can I do ye for?"_

_"Well, a bit of an incident occured last night, Andrews. I'm not sure if you're aware? It was rather late in the evening. The young DeWitt Bukater lady had a slight accident on the deck and was saved from falling over the railings of the ship."_

_"Saved from falling overboard? Good heavens! Is she alright, Mr. Ismay?"_

_"Oh, don't worry, Andrews, she's absolutely fine now. A young man from steerage came to her rescue, actually. Something Dawson? A Jock or a Jack Dawson, I don't remember. These steerage people are all the same to me. Anyway, as a gesture of thanks to the young man, the DeWitt Bukaters and Caledon Hockley are holding a dinner party tonight. The boy will be in attendance. I have been asked to be there, and the Astors will be present. As will Margaret Brown, I believe. Your presence is requested too, Andrews. Will you be available?"_

_"I don't see why not, Mr. Ismay. Will the lovely lady in question be there as well?"_

_"I certainly imagine so, Andrews. The boy saved her life, and well, Mr. Hockley likes to keep his fiancee on a well tethered leash. Ha, though I'm not sure he had that leash tight enough last night!"_

_"Well, I think it's a shame that he stifles her, Mr. Ismay. That's one very intelligent girl, there. I spoke with her yesterday, several times. She has a lot of spirit, so she does."_

_"Not thinking of stealing her away from Mr. Hockley, I hope, Andrews!"_

_"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Ismay. The girl is young enough to be my daughter! I admire her passion for learning, that's all."_

_"Well, keep it that way, old chap. We'll be expecting you at seven o'clock sharp this evening then. I'll see myself out. Good day to you!"_

_"And to you, Mr. Ismay."_

With that brief exchange finished, Mr. Ismay was gone.

Mr. Andrews rescued me from the washroom, guiding me back out to his main quarters again.

"I must apologise for the interruption. And for the undignified way I treated you there, Mimi,'' he sighed, brushing a hand through his wavy hair. "I take it you heard that? Ismay has invited me to dinner with the Astors and the DeWitt Bukaters tonight,"

The Astors he was referring to, were John Jacob Astor and his lady wife, who was only eighteen years old and already heavily pregnant. Not like _I _could make any comment on that situation, having once been an eighteen year old 'in the family way' myself. The Astors were the richest people on the ship, and Mr. Astor had built the Waldorf Astoria hotel in New York, no less.

"How exciting!" I said, trying to sound chipper, though I wasn't sure if Mr. Andrews would agree with me.

"I find these dinners quite tiresome, Mimi," he admitted, sheepishly. "I'm very proud of my work on this wonderful vessel, but I'm not one to keep crowing about it. I prefer to remain modest. Ismay likes to harp on about my achievements in the company of guests. I get embarrassed,"

I took his hands in mine and entwined my fingers through his, somewhat forwardly for a woman.

"I don't see why, Thomas. You deserve the recognition for designing _Titanic_. It's the very least people can do for you."

"I just feel uncomfortable with all the attention, Mimi. But... I've just had an idea, actually. Would you like to come with me tonight, as my guest?"

I laughed.

"What? _Me_?"

He nodded his head and smiled, flexing his fingers through mine.

"Yes, _you_. Why not? I need the company. So many rich people... it'll be excrutiating!"

"Ah, but what about Miss DeWitt Bukater? I saw how enamoured with her you were yesterday. Will _her_ presence be excrutiating for you too?" I teased, rather harmlessly at first.

Or so I'd thought. He took me a little too seriously and became defensive over my remark.

"Now Mimi, it isn't like that. I'm interested in her spirit. I can see in her eyes that there's more to her. She's intelligent and not afraid to show it."

I dropped my hands from his, and turned myself away from him. I didn't like him talking about this spoiled young rich girl in such a way. In fact, I decided then that I detested it. Mind you, it was me who'd brought her into the conversation in the first place! Fool that I was.

"I'm not sure I care for this attention you pay her," I huffed, folding my arms petulantly.

"Oh, come on now Mimi," he pleaded, "Please don't be like that,"

"Well, you can keep your fancy dinner for the rich snobs, Thomas. I'm sure Rose will keep you entertained with all her words of wisdom and her youthful knowledge. You certainly don't need _me_ there to hold your hand."

In a sulk, I trotted across the room to the door and put my fingers around the doorknob.

"You're welcome to her. I'm sure this dinner tonight will be just riveting for you with _her _there. Oh yes, Miss DeWitt Bukater with her womanly assets! And her bright red hair, and her ridiculously corsetted little waist. I'd rather not be there, if it's all the same to you. I don't think I could stand to be around her. But _you _obviously can."

Mr. Andrews sighed and shook his head.

"You're being absurd, Mimi."

"Think what you like, Thomas!" I snapped back, opening the door wide, "I'm finished with this conversation."

I turned on my heel, but remembered one small thing before leaving. The reason why I'd come here in the first place, of course! I was in no doubt now about my dilemma from earlier.

"Oh yes, and Thomas? Don't forget: _I still want my money."_

With that, I slammed the door straight in his face and marched back down the corridor again, smarting.

Yes; I look back now and realise that I completely over reacted when Rose DeWitt Bukater's name was mentioned. And yes, I was a drama queen. But at the time, Mr. Andrews speaking so fondly of another woman was like waving a red rag to a bull. I'd accepted he would speak lovingly about his estranged wife, of course. That would always be a given. But I didn't like his sudden fascination with this particular young lady. It had begun to irritate me more and more, for I wished he would tell me how intelligent and full of spirit _I_ was. I thought I just didn't live up to his high levels of intellectual expectation. But obviously I was good enough for satisfying his sexual appetite! I was starting to regret being nothing more than being his dirty little secret.


	8. A Game Of Charades

**Author's Note** - As always, thanks for reading and reviewing.

This chapter sees the introduction of more minor characters from Cameron's film. Most notably, **William McMaster Murdoch**, First Officer, as portrayed in the film by my fellow Scot, Ewan Stewart. This is my own fictional representation of Ewan Stewart as Murdoch.

I won't bother with disclaimers here - we all know who owns what and who doesn't.

* * *

**_Chapter 8: A Game Of Charades_  
**

I'd realised that today would be a particularly long day, and I had to fight my feelings of frustration, as far as Mr. Andrews was concerned. How could he not see that his sudden fascination for the young first class redhead, was affecting whatever relationship we had? I didn't even know how to refer to our relationship. It clearly wasn't as platonic as he liked to make out; there was definitely a sexual element there. I'd wanted to class myself a his mistress, because that was how I'd felt. But I didn't know what was going on in_ his_ head. Maybe he didn't know, either.

Before I went on shift for the day, he came by my cabin very briefly to hand me an envelope full of money. Our interaction was chilled and uncomfortable, and he'd barely said two words to me before leaving the room again. It was shattering my heart, and I hated myself for letting him invade my thoughts; my mind, my soul. When he was gone, I opened the envelope to find a large wad of Irish banknotes, accompanied by a note on a folded piece of paper. I opened it slowly, and read his handwriting aloud to myself.

_I'm sorry, Mimi.  
_

_T.A._

Well, how could I stay angry at him? Sighing softly to myself, I pressed the note against my chest. I _hated_ him. But I_ loved_ him. It made no sense, I know. But I felt the two emotions collide together quite easily. Love and hate are closely related, as people often say. This was how I'd felt about him. _  
_

I didn't see him an awful lot during the rest of the morning. When I did, he was either milling around with his black leather-bound notebook, taking note of whatever interior fittings needed to be repaired, or conversing with staff and with guests. I did see him briefly, as I passed, chatting to Miss DeWitt Bukater in the hallway near the stairs._ On their own_. Her mother wasn't present, and neither was Caledon Hockley. As Mr. Ismay would probably say, Hockley had 'let her off the leash'. I managed to catch a little of their conversation as I was passing with a pile of towels in my arms. I was becoming an expert eavesdropper while working on this ship.

_''... so he saved me, Mr. Andrews. I couldn't believe it! This young man from the third class had thought he should help me, and I am forever grateful to him. He has no money, Mr. Andrews. But he saved me anyway. I still cannot believe a young man of his kind could have such a conscience.''_

'_'Young Rose, you must have faith in other people. Life isn't always about money. A conscience does not need money.''_

_''You know what, Mr. Andrews? You're right. I like that term you used there.''_

_''Which term is that, Rose?''_

_''A conscience does not need money. It's very profound. Mr. Andrews, you are a darling.''_

_''And so are you, dear Rose.''_

_''I wonder - would you kindly be seated with me tonight at dinner? Cal will be on my right, and I had yet to decide who should be on my left. Now I have decided.''_

_''But of course, young Rose. I'd be honoured to be seated with you tonight."_

_''Good! That's settled, then. I shall see you this evening, Mr. Andrews. And I'll be sure to introduce you properly to Mr. Dawson! I think you will find him quite delightful.''_

Now, I can't say that I wasn't being eaten up by the green eyed monster; I certainly was. He'd been nothing less than polite to Miss DeWitt Bukater, but all this 'dear Rose' and 'young Rose' talk was grating on me so much, I wanted to slap him across the face. Of course, I wasn't going to do that, but the feeling was there. Mulling his interactions with her over in my head, I made my way back to the second class deck and deposited the pile of towels in the linen cupboard. I remembered he was due to be taking a party of first class guests, including the DeWitt Bukaters and Mr. Hockley, on a tour of the boat deck that afternoon. Mr. Andrews never missed a chance to show off his architectural skills, although he was always modest with his achievements too. If I could just somehow get out onto the deck at the time he was conducting his tour, perhaps I could take him aside again. I could beg him to understand my unhappiness over his new friendship with Miss DeWitt Bukater. Not that he would take any notice, I was sure. But it was playing on my mind, and it was worth a try. This... _affair_... or whatever it was, was starting to impact on my working day, now.

**...**

I did make it out onto the promenade deck, while Mr. Andrews was in the process of giving his party of guests the tour of the ship. He was looking very dashing this afternoon, sporting a trilby-style hat and leather gloves, in addition to his blazer and waistcoat. The man certainly knew how to dress like a gentleman! Unfortunately for me and my dreadful state of envy, young Miss DeWitt Bukater was looking incredibly beautiful as well. Her crimson curls cascaded down her back, and her lips reminded me of a pert little rosebud; perhaps this was why she'd been named Rose. In my insecure mind, I could see why Mr. Andrews often wanted to be around her, even though I hated to admit it to myself. There was something about her whole aura, and not just the way she looked. It wasn't her fault I despised her so much. It was my own inadequacies that were really at play.

I noted an exchange between the Captain and a couple of crew members in the wheel room close by, and heard the mention of icebergs being reported at sea. Captain Smith didn't appear perturbed by this piece of information, and he informed the DeWitt Bukaters and Mr. Hockley that icebergs were 'nothing to worry about' and 'quite normal for this time of year'. Mr. Andrews had seemed a little uncomfortable at the mentioning of icebergs, but he'd said nothing more either. He took his tour party out onto the boat deck, to show them the gymnasium and then the lifeboat systems.

I knew what I had to do. I made myself seem marginally more than appealing to someone who seemed to have a bit of class, and I headed straight towards the man who was in my eye line. This happened to be one Mr. William Murdoch, who was sitting out on deck with a cup of English tea in his hand, enjoying the sea air. Mr. Murdoch was an attractive, well spoken Scottish chap with piercing blue eyes; the First Officer aboard the ship. I'd seen him around on other boats before, and we'd said brief _hello_s in passing, but nothing more than that. I may have made him a cup of lemon tea once, if I remember rightly. A polite enough man, certainly. Was he married? I wasn't sure. But my goal was never to be particularly intimate with him. No, of course not. My goal was to be slightly flirtatious with Mr. Murdoch, especially in the presence of Mr. Andrews. I'd wanted Mr. Andrews to prove something to me. I'd wanted him to prove that he cared - even just a little bit. Would he feel any kind of pang of jealousy, at all? I was going to find out.

''So, William. How are you finding it here on _Titanic_?'' I enquired, with a flirty tone to my voice.

Mr. Murdoch smiled and shifted forward in his chair, attentatively. I took a seat on the deckchair next to him.

''It's going very well, Miss Monaghan,'' he replied, ''It's nice to be out here at sea again. This is where I belong! You can't beat it,''

I nodded, fingering the hem of my apron and glancing ever so quickly towards Mr. Andrews. He was standing with his tour party, including Miss DeWitt Bukater, her mother, and Mr. Hockley. They were milling around on the deck, about forty feet or so away. Mr. Andrews was deep in conversation, as always, with the young lady who'd begun to grate on me since her arrival yesterday morning.

Looking back at Mr. Murdoch, I smiled sweetly.

''Oh, I understand, William. This is certainly my grandest trip out to sea yet!"

We both chuckled, and Mr. Murdoch readjusted the naval officer's cap on his head, pulling the peak lower over his eyes to shade them from the afternoon sunshine. He put his cup and saucer down next to him, and stood to his feet. I mirrored him, also standing up.

''Never a grander ship, Miss Monaghan,'' he quipped, ''Your special friend over there has been a master at designing her so beautifully,"

I raised an eyebrow at the use of his phrasing.

''My _special friend_, William?'' I repeated.

Mr. Murdoch's eyes widened sheepishly, and his jaw dropped open a little.

''Well, I-I mean... Mr. Andrews is _everyone'_s friend,'' he stammered, attempting to backtrack on his original meaning.

I shook my head and touched the side of his arm, laughing softly at his discomfort.

''Oh, don't worry, I'll just give you a shovel to keep on digging,'' I teased him, still touching his arm. ''Mr. Andrews and I shared a kiss after the Captain's party the other night, and nothing more. Too much of the old champagne, ye see. We're friends, but that's all,''

_Well Mimi, you know full well you're lying out of your backside. Telling the man a complete and utter fabrication! Not everyone is that stupid._

''Of course!" Mr. Murdoch agreed with me, though he sounded a little less than convinced.

I decided it was a good time to push things a bit further, knowing that Mr. Andrews was still within eye shot, and also earshot. I hooked my arm through Mr. Murdoch's and placed both of my hands on top of each other, on his sleeve. The poor man hadn't expected me to be quite so forward, and I do remember his eyebrows shifting upwards with surprise!

''I've got a few minutes left before I have to go back on shift, William,'' I purred, using my best smokey voice. ''In the meantime, why don't you take a lady for a walk along the deck?''

I believe that Mr. Murdoch began to blush! It was quite sweet to see an alpha male become a bit embarrassed. But I did hope Mr. Andrews could see the two of us. This show was all for his benefit, after all. Unfortunately for poor Mr. Murdoch, who didn't suspect that he was just a pawn in a stupid game of mine.

''Certainly, Miss Monaghan," he'd happily replied to my request, and we began to walk down the boat deck.

The DeWitt Bukaters, Mr. Hockley and Mr. Andrews were still close by, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Mr. Andrews turning his head. As Mr. Murdoch scanned the expansive sea line with his eyes, I took the opportunity to crane my neck a little further to gauge Mr. Andrews' reaction. Yes, he'd seen us, for definite. I could hear his voice and see his mouth moving in speech, but I'd tuned out of whatever eye-glazingly boring ship talk he was engaging with. I heard Miss DeWitt Bukater let out a high pitched giggle, for which she was reprimanded by Mr. Hockley.

_I don't know how Mr. Hockley puts up with you, love. _

Of course, my inner thoughts were those I would never say out loud. But thinking them was rather fun. My mind was a no-holds-barred kind of place.

''It's refreshing out here, isn't it?'' Mr. Murdoch said cheerily, as we stopped at the safety railings. The breeze was blowing in our faces, and stray tufts of my hair fluttered into my eyes. Mr. Murdoch smiled, and with his fingers, brushed the strands away and pushed them behind my ears. It was nice that he was paying me this sort of attention; he seemed to be a decent chap, if not a bit on the mischievous side at times. But he was simply an unknowing player in my somewhat juvenile little game.

Mr. Andrews, the DeWitt Bukaters and Mr. Hockley were close by, situated near the lifeboats by the davits. Both Miss DeWitt Bukater's and Mr. Andrews' voices drifted into my earshot again.

''You miss _nothing_, do you, Rose?'' I heard him respond to her, his tone relaxed and playful.

_Oh, for God's sake, Thomas. Just ravish her out here on the deck in front of her fiance, and be done with it. Go on. Save us all from listening to you fawning over the snooty little trollop.  
_

No, my thoughts were not the most ladylike or the most pleasant, but I felt I had every right to say those things in my head.

My retaliation had to be something which would take his eyes off of the DeWitt Bukater girl, quickly. I knew what to do, and who to do it with. Again, I heard Mr. Andrews' voice, clearly replying to the girl. Ship this, lifeboats that. New-type davits this, cranks that. Dull conversation to everyone but Mr. Andrews and the red haired young lady.

''Sleep soundly, young Rose,'' he continued cheerily, heading aft with his party. They passed within close proximity to Mr. Murdoch and myself. ''I've built ye a good ship, strong and true. She's all the lifeboat ye need! Just keep heading aft. The next stop will be the engine room,"

_Oh, do shut up, Thomas. Sleep soundly young Rose, indeed. How ridiculous. Where should she do that then? In_ _your bed?_

Knowing that I was bound to be within his immediate field of vision by now, I seized the opportunity to get under his skin, and I did it. Yes, I'm not proud of it now. But at the time, there was nothing more appealing than attempting to make him jealous by turning myself into a terrible harlot again. Only, I was not being Mr. Andrews' terrible harlot this time. I quickly positioned myself into Mr. Murdoch's body, closely, and planted my lips on top of his. It had to be done! Well, Mr. Murdoch was certainly surprised by this, as you can probably imagine. But he did not pull back; goodness, no. He reciprocated, sliding his arms around my shoulders and tilting my head back. I have to admit, it wasn't a bad kiss. I'd had worse! But he wasn't Mr. Andrews, and I didn't feel like devouring Mr. Murdoch in quite the same way. Only one man could provoke such feelings of unadulterated desire from me, and he was the man who was walking by me right that very moment. He was silent, but I heard mutterings of disapproval coming from Ruth DeWitt Bukater, who was tagging along behind her daughter.

Mr. Hockley was much less offended, and was the only one to make any sort of comment about seeing the First Officer and the maid kissing on the deck in front of them. He actually seemed to find it quite amusing, chortling and pointing his cane in the direction of Mr. Murdoch and me.

''My, my! The maids and the crewmen _do_ get rather frisky with the sea air, don't they, Mr. Andrews?''

Mr. Andrews' initial reply was nothing more than a quiet murmur; not a word of any such recognition, more like an affronted sighing noise. Then, he added over his shoulder in our direction, ''I should remind the members of staff to please act more accordingly!"

Mr. Murdoch was the one to break the kiss, having been enjoying it a bit too much for my liking. He looked over at Mr. Andrews and company, who were strolling away from us by now.

''Apologies, Mr. Andrews," he called out, realising that Mr. Andrews was not happy at such a sideshow. We both laughed, and Mr. Murdoch fired me a mischievous smirk.

''I wouldn't mind a repeat performance of that, lassie..."

I patted his arm, and turned on my heel to head back to work.

''Perhaps, William. Perhaps.''

Shaking his head, with an inane grin plastered all over his face, he went his way. And I went mine.

Well, that was the first part of my task completed. Maybe another one or two shows of so-called 'affection' between myself and Mr. Murdoch would do the trick. Mr. Andrews was a hard man to figure out, but I hoped this would be the one thing which would drive him completely crazy. Well, nobody could blame me for trying.

**...**

Around half an hour after my little display on the deck, Mr. Andrews cornered me in the crewmen's dining area. I'd been in there polishing some cutlery for the Captain, humming happily to myself. There was no-one else around, and Mr. Andrews made certain of that before confronting me.

''Mimi, _what_ are you playing at?'' he sighed as he strolled into the dining area, taking off his hat and and closing the door behind him.

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and continued to polish the spoons with my cloth.

''I don't know what you're talking about!"

He was becoming quite frustrated with me, and I could see that tired look in his large brown eyes. He grasped my shoulders with strong hands and sighed.

''You know very well what I'm talking about. That ridiculous... _charade_... with William Murdoch.''

I put the cutlery back into the drawer and folded my arms, attempting the old 'sweet and innocent' routine. Drawing my eyes back down to his face, I could tell was sliding right under his skin, just as I'd planned.

''What makes you believe it's a charade, Thomas?''

Even though the door was closed, he looked around himself again, making absolutely sure nobody else could enter the room.

''I _know_ it is, Mimi. Why are you doing this? Are you really that desperate for attention?'' he said, his tone of voice irate.

I blinked at his words. It seemed that I was not the only one who could be blunt when I needed to be! I was clearly getting to him now. Shifting my weight forward, I stared him straight in the eye and said nothing. For a few seconds, that was all we did - stare at each other. He was much taller than me, but I wasn't even remotely intimidated by his height.

I unfolded my arms and lifted a finger slowly, placing it on his lips.

''Sssh, now.''

Instantly, he softened. Still with my finger covering his lips, I decided to tell him exactly what I wanted from him.

''No more talking about Rose, Thomas. This mouth has to stay closed. I don't want to hear about her all the time. Alright?"

Clearly irritated by my request, he sighed through his nose.

''_Well_?'' I urged, lightly stroking his top lip.

He shook his head and moved my hand from his mouth, so that he could speak.

''Rose is a bright girl, Mimi. And you can't tell me who to talk about, or what to do. You're _not_ my wife.''

I couldn't believe the way he was being. It was out of character for him, and I must admit, I didn't like him challenging me like this. Had I really caused a sudden change in his personality? Tears began to prickle at the corners of my eyes.

''Your _wife_, dear Thomas, took another man into your marital bed before you'd met me_._ I, on the other hand, would never do such a thing to you.'' I retorted, knowing he could see my tears building.

''And how do I know that, Mimi?'' he asked, scanning my face. ''What about William Murdoch?''

''I'll continue to see William, if you continue to talk about Rose,'' I told him sharply. ''What do you want, Thomas? Hmm? Would you like to think about me in _his_ bed too?'' I stood on my tiptoes, close to his ear. ''Just think. Your wife has already had sexual relations with another man. What if your mistress is pushed to do the same thing? Wouldn't that be just the worst luck?''

He hated me for this, I could tell. Stepping backwards away from me, he shook his head angrily and loudly slammed his notebook down onto the table.

''You are unimaginable, Mimi. Whatever possessed me to get involved with you?''

I smiled sweetly.

''Because you wanted someone to confide in. Because you wanted someone to be intimate with. _And because your wife isn't givin' you pleasure._''

He snorted back a cynical laugh.

''You have such a deluded opinion of yerself, young lady.''

I copied his cynical, snorting laugh in retaliation before replying, ''Oh, I do? You're the one pretending you don't have an ego! I couldn't give a damn about what your ship is made of and how many rivets hold the thing together. I've got better things to do with my time than obsess over nonsensical details like_ those._''

He grasped my elbow and pulled me back, towards him.

''They're not nonsensical details, Mimi. They matter very much. I'll thank you to be less discourteous to your surroundings! Oh, and by the way, Mimi -''

He silenced himself, and me as well, by smothering his mouth over mine. I did not foresee that! Had we just had our first proper argument? Yes, it seemed so. And the making up part was going to prove to be, well, rather wonderful, if this kiss was anything to go by. How unexpected, but delicious. He lifted me up onto the table and quite literally ravished me, devouring every exposed area of my flesh and being unusually rather dominant. Thomas Andrews could be an occasional alpha male, after all. Any member of the crew could have come into the dining room, but that only seemed to add to Mr. Andrews' excitement. If truth be told, it added to mine too. The thought of being caught by Captain Smith, or even better, Mr. Ismay! I imagined Ismay walking in on Thomas Andrews, the master shipbuilder who was doing unspeakable things with the maid on the dining table. That would've wiped the smug smile from his face, pretty sharpish.

Catching our respective breaths after a quick but satisfying table-top tryst, I pulled my dress down over my legs again and readjusted my apron. Mr. Andrews buttoned up his trousers accordingly, and he'd kept his blazer on the whole time.

''Perhaps we should argue more often,'' I jested, hopping down from the table. I gathered up a silver serving tray in my hands, as if nothing had happened. ''I have to get back to work now, Thomas. Middle class folk are waiting to be coddled, more's the pity,''

He grinned and shook his head as he picked up his notebook and reached for a pen in his top pocket. With a look of concentration crossing his face, he opened the book and turned to the first available blank page.

''Looks like these table legs need repaired now,'' he remarked, somewhat ironically, scribbling his own words into the book.

He then looked up from his notes, replaced the lid of his pen and closed the book over. There was still a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he watched my eyes.

''Any more encounters like this on other parts of my ship, Mimi, and I'll have to get the maintenance officer in more often.''

His voice was serious but I was sure he was joking, albeit in a deadpan manner. With the silver tray still in my hands, I passed him by on my way to the door.

''Spontaneous passion is meant to be_ frantic_, Thomas. You know, maybe this evening, after your dinner party. I could, perhaps... stay the night? In your stateroom. What d'ye think?''

He looked rather bashful and his cheeks reddened a tad more.

''I don't think that would be appropriate, Mimi. And I also have an appointment, early tomorrow morn'. Another party of guests has requested a tour of the deck, and young Rose wants to join me again. I'll be telling everyone more about the design of the ship, ye see. Rose is fascin-''

''_Stop_ there,'' I chided, raising an eyebrow at him. ''I suppose I'll just have to pay William Murdoch a visit then, won't I?"

Mr. Andrews defensively waved his hands in the air.

''Oh no, you don't want to be doin' that, Mimi."

I shrugged my shoulders, casually.

''But it didn't take you five minutes before you mentioned Rose's name.''

Mr. Andrews clutched his book to his chest and hung his head, his brown eyes watching the floor.

''Alright, Mimi. I've got the message loud and clear. You win.''

Feeling rather triumphant, I nodded.

''If ye keep putting your foot in your mouth, Thomas, I always will!''

And I walked out of the room, leaving him there to smoulder. I was turning into quite the piece of mischief, and Mr. Andrews had no-one else to blame but himself; getting into such a bother with me! He was becoming putty in my hands, and my goodness, I was enjoying it.


	9. Are You Out Of Your Mind, Woman?

**Author's Note:** Thank you again to everyone for their kind comments/subs. These keep me writing!

Here we see Mimi's plotting and conniving ways getting both her and Mr. Andrews into a spot of bother. Will he be foolish enough to go through with what she wants?

(Disclaimer - I'd love to own Victor Garber, but sadly I don't. Same for Titanic, the Thomas Andrews character, Rose DeWitt Bukater and everything related to the Cameron film. Mimi is mine. )

* * *

**_Chapter 9: Are You Out Of Your Mind, Woman?_**

_11th April, 5:30pm_

Had I really intended to launch into some sort of half hearted affair with Mr. Murdoch in a pathetic attempt to make Mr. Andrews jealous, I hear you ask? Well, at this point, I couldn't have really answered that. I didn't want everything to backfire on me, and as attractive as Mr. Murdoch was, I wasn't sure I could keep up with the pretence that I was interested in him romantically. Perhaps I was just trying too hard to punish Mr. Andrews.

Or perhaps not. I was walking down the promenade deck late afternoon, intending to collect the used cups and saucers which had been left by passengers on the picnic tables. And on my way there, I couldn't believe my eyes. Once again, there was Mr. Andrews, as bold as brass; conversing with Miss DeWitt Bukater! Black book in one hand, pen in the other, writing furiously without even looking at the page. His eyes were on her as she spoke, his face relaxed and smiling happily.

_I'll kill you, Thomas Andrews..._

My inner thoughts were grinding away in my mind again. I wasn't sure I could just let everything wash over me this time. I felt as though he was deliberately making a show of himself in front of me. Trying to prove a point, maybe, that I couldn't stop him talking to Miss DeWitt Bukater, or being around her. I had no actual proof that he had romantic feelings for her; this was true. No proof at all. But her presence was enough to rile me up. I didn't even want him to look at her, never mind anything else. In my mind, a pretty, strong willed girl like her was a rival to me. And I didn't take kindly to having rivals.

_I'm not going to take this lying down, Thomas._

Making a detour away from the tables, I marched over to Mr. Andrews and Miss DeWitt Bukater, making sure the look of disdain was clear on my face.

Mr. Andrews seemed surprised at my sudden and unexpected arrival.

''Ah, Mimi! Young Rose here was just advising me of a few minor adjustments to be made on the promenade deck," he said with a cheery tone to his voice, pausing briefly from scribbling his notes, ''So what can I do ye for?''

_Don't be playin' the idiot, Thomas. We were having sexual relations on a table not even half an hour ago. Don't act surprised._

I frowned at him, but couldn't help switch my attention from him to the stunning young lady in front of me.

''Good afternoon, Miss DeWitt Bukater,'' I said, with a courteous nod of my head.

This was the first time I had seen her close up, and now I certainly felt justified in being suspicious of Mr. Andrews' intentions to her. She was the most beautiful young woman I'd ever seen. Her face, her hair, her clothing, her posture. How on God's earth could someone like me, compare to someone like her? I just couldn't. She was nothing short of exquisite.

''My name is Mimi,'' I continued politely. I looked to Mr. Andrews who was standing at my side, appearing slightly nervous of my being there, but still writing in his book. I paused for a moment, before dropping the bombshell. '_'_I'm Thomas's_ fiancee_.''

Smiling very sweetly, I watched as Mr. Andrews' jaw fell open and his eyes almost popped out of his head. Oh, I knew he'd be angry with me. Like I'd even cared at that moment; I felt I had to do this.

_''Mimi_!" he hissed under his breath at me, then shot Miss DeWitt Bukater a most exaggerated grin.

''Oh my_,_'' Miss DeWitt Bukater giggled, extending her elegantly-gloved hand out to me and gently touching my arm. She seemed quite tactile, in a subtle way, which was unusual for someone of her social status. ''Goodness, Mr. Andrews hadn't mentioned anything about a fiancee!"

_Of course he didn't, dear - he didn't know he had one! I bet he didn't mention anything about a wife either. He does have one of those.  
_

''Well, I-um...I like to keep myself to myself. You know how it is,'' Mr. Andrews quickly replied to Miss DeWitt Bukater, while glaring at me as well.

I linked my arm through his, and gave another of my sweetest, most innocent smiles to both him and the young lady.

''We're only newly engaged,'' I gushed, making it all up as I went along. ''In fact, he hasn't even bought me a ring yet! That'll be the first port of call when we dock in New York. Won't it, Thomas?''

He was clearly irritated, but didn't say anything to convince Miss DeWitt Bukater otherwise.

''Yes, dear_,_'' he monotonously agreed with me, actually going along with the pretence.

''Oh, that's wonderful!" Miss DeWitt Bukater squealed, excitement clear in her face. ''Mr. Andrews, I'm so happy for you. He's a lovely man, Mimi. You're very lucky to have him. He will keep you safe and sound, I know he will,''

I kept smiling and nodding, my arm still linked through Mr. Andrews'. He was smarting - fuming, even - I could really tell by the tension in his arm and his refusal to stand any closer to me.

''I've just had an idea," Miss DeWitt Bukater gasped, her eyes wide. ''Why don't you join us all tonight at the dinner party, Mimi? Mr. Andrews will be seated with my fiance and me, but we can always make room for another. We can make it a double celebration! To congratulate Mr. Dawson on being a hero, and to celebrate the future Mr. and Mrs. Andrews,"

_This keeps on getting better. Wriggle your way out of this one, Thomas!_

''Oh no, really, that won't be necessary, young Rose,'' Mr. Andrews answered for me, through gritted teeth.

Feigning petulance, I gently smacked him on the arm with the back of my hand.

''Of course it's necessary! Are you ashamed to let the world know about our love, Thomas Andrews Junior?''

Mr. Andrews didn't even bother attempting to answer that. He realised I was punishing him for paying too much attention to the young lady, and he knew he had to take it like a man and go along with my stunt, ridiculous as it was. But he didn't like it, and that was quite clear.

I turned back to the flame haired socialite again, and my sweetest smile returned.

''That's a very kind offer, Miss DeWitt Bukater. I would _love _to join you all.''

The young lady clapped her gloved hands together excitedly.

''Wonderful. That's settled, then. I really must go and meet with Mother and Cal now, but I'll see you both at seven o'clock in the restaurant. The champagne will be on ice!"

Mr. Andrews bowed his head politely to her.

''Thank you, Rose.''

She, in turn, softly touched his arm.

''You've been very kind to me, Mr. Andrews. This is the least I could do for you. I hope you and Mimi will have a wonderful life together.''

Then she looked at me, her eyes soft and genuine.

''Mimi, I only wish to have a man as kind and as gentle as Mr. Andrews. Marrying for love is something I could only dream about. Sometimes money is of too much importance...''

Her voice trailed off and her eyes moved away from mine, to the floor. After a moment, she snapped out of the wistful trance she'd been in.

''I should catch up with Mother and Cal in the Cafe Parisien now,'' she said quickly, and hurried off, seeming preoccupied with her thoughts.

I'd begun to see something I hadn't planned on seeing. I had to admit it to myself; she appeared to be a rather sweet young lady, certainly from my first impressions. Not at all the stuck up little madam I had painted her out to be. She did seem, well, quite endearing, really. And her words about marrying for love being a dream of hers; they had struck me. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something was amiss there. I could tell that straight away.

Mr. Andrews pulled away from me and glowered at me in disgust.

''What on God's earth were you _doing_?'' he hissed, shaking his head.

''Thomas, I'm sorry. I got carried away,'' I sighed, knowing it was my turn to look sheepish now.

With mounting frustration, he raked a hand through his hair, his eyes wide.

''But telling her we're engaged to be _married_, Mimi? Accepting an invite to dinner...to celebrate a _non-existent _engagement? A lot of people on this voyage know I'm already married! Are you out of your mind, woman?''

I swallowed hard and clasped my hands together in front of my apron, shyly. Lowering my head, I gazed up at him with my best doe-eyed expression.

''I know. I said I was sorry.''

Mr. Andrews looked at me with pity in his eyes, and sighed through his nose. He clutched his black book to his chest.

''I realise you're trying to punish me, Mimi. But I hope now, you can see that there is nothing untoward happening between myself and young Rose.''

Maybe I did. Just, maybe. I now felt rather ashamed at my rash behaviour, and my face was beginning flush quite noticeably. Mr. Andrews glanced at my pink cheeks and the reddening of my chest, and I could see his resolve breaking. He took my hand in his and raised it to his lips, gently kissing it. A smirk slowly crept across his face.

''I must say, Mimi. I'm very flattered by all this attention from you.''

_Of course you are, Thomas. You're a man.  
_

''Thomas...'' I sighed happily, my chest beginning to rise and fall faster than before.

Still holding onto my hand, he placed my palm to the side of his face, and looked me in the eye. The sea breeze played with strands of my hair and blew them into my eyelashes. Tentatively, he brushed the strands out of my vision and tucked them behind my ear.

''It isn't just you who is out of your mind,'' he admitted quietly, looking around himself before his eyes came back to me. ''I must be, too. I'll go along with the pretence, for now. For one night, you can be the future Mrs. Andrews. I'll look such a fool in front of the DeWitt Bukaters if I don't go through with this. But remember, Mimi. There is a real Mrs. Andrews back home. You and me...we can never really be engaged. We can never really be married. Please don't get your hopes up,''

I understood completely, even if I didn't like the realism part much.

''Alright. Just one night,'' I whispered in agreement, standing on my toes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Thomas,''

With that made crystal clear, we both went our separate ways back along the promenade deck. And I couldn't deny how hard my heart was beating, at the thought of masquerading as his dearly beloved fiancee that evening. My initially ludicrous and ill-thought plan for revenge had taken a twist I never assumed it would; I'd get to find out what it might be like to be the future Mrs. Thomas Andrews. I just had to keep reminding myself that the genuine Mrs. Thomas Andrews was still alive and well, at home in Ireland, with the child they created together. Even out there at sea, the real Mrs. Andrews held onto everything I'd wanted, but just couldn't have.


	10. What Can I Do To Make You Love Me?

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all those who are still reading this and taking the time to review!

Please bear with this story if you can, guys. I've got a few things up my sleeve for the chapters coming up soon.

* * *

**_Chapter 10: What Can I Do To Make You Love Me?_  
**

I'd had very little time to think, let alone get ready for that evening. I was lucky to be finishing my housekeeping duties at six o'clock, but this only served to give me less than one hour to try to look my best. The cream and chocolate coloured frock and shoes I'd worn for the Captain's party a few nights ago, would have their uses again. But being the working class girl that I was, I had nothing to go with it. I owned no jewellery, besides the silver locket I wore every day around my neck. It had to do, though. My dress would've looked much plainer without it. I wasn't even sure what to do with my hair, for goodness sake! I had to think, quickly, of new uses for my trusted hair pins and clasps. Somehow I managed to come up with a style which was reasonably glamorous, at least, in my opinion. Curls piled on top of my head quite loosely; feminine, but not messy. Once that was done, I applied some trusty rouge to my cheeks and a liberal amount of scarlet lip tint. I was certainly a girl who needed a daily touch of rouge. My skin was typically Celtic in appearance; freckled and almost translucent, at times.

There was just one small dilemma, which I'd been mulling over as I'd been busying myself with primping and preening. This evening, I would have to masquerade as the future Mrs. Thomas Andrews. I was certainly very excited at the prospect of this charade. And even more pleasantly surprised that Mr. Andrews himself had agreed to go along with it all! His reasons were different to mine, of course. He hadn't wanted Miss DeWitt Bukater to think him a foolish liar, after I'd given her that somewhat 'exaggerated' version of his relationship with me. I knew I had to see him before heading to the restaurant. There was the little matter of getting our stories straight. I had no idea what had possessed me in the first place to suddenly make up such untruths.

Well, alright. That in itself was an untruth. I knew why I had been so drastic. I couldn't let anyone else have this man. Even if it meant lying through my teeth and telling blatant nonsense to someone who I'd deemed a threat; in this case, Rose DeWitt Bukater.

But this was also a turning point, for me. Surely, if Mr. Andrews had been romantically interested in Rose DeWitt Bukater, he would simply refuse to have anything more to do with me? He wouldn't become involved with my lies about an engagement. He wouldn't have put his own reputation at risk. But he did - he was going along with the pretence. Oh goodness, the thoughts whirling through my mind! Perhaps he was actually falling for me? There was nothing I'd wanted more. Nothing.

As I was finishing up in the mirror, there was a soft rapping noise on the door of my cabin. My heart began pound. I nervously put my hand to my chest, inhaled deeply, and headed to answer the door.

He was there. I smiled sweetly, and he returned the gesture.

''Good evening, Mimi.''

I nodded my head, coming over as somewhat shy.

''Thomas. Come in,''

And he did, clearly a tad on the nervous side himself. Oh, but goodness; was he looking so very dashing tonight! What a sophisticated man, in his black tuxedo jacket with tails and matching trousers, white bow tie, crisp white shirt. Just divine. And he'd applied the most wonderful musky cologne; I could smell the aroma, drifting subtly through the air. He stood straight and tall near to me, his hands clasped behind his back in a gentlemanly fashion.

''You look lovely tonight, if you don't mind me saying so,'' he commented, his eyes looking me up and down.

I gave a breathy chuckle.

''Thank you, Thomas. And you look very handsome,''

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his smile fading a little.

''You realise, we must correlate our stories this evening. I'm going through with this so that Rose doesn't think of me as a fool.''

I looked down at the floor, feeling slightly deflated.

''I do understand, Thomas,''

He nodded, and walked forward, taking my hands in his.

''Well, then. We have to do this properly, don't we?''

_So ravish me right here, then!  
_

My goodness, I could've sworn that my inner thoughts could be easily read all over my face. Still holding my hands, Mr. Andrews continued.

''Here's the plan. I proposed to you to last night, and like you mentioned to Rose, we'll be purchasing the engagement ring once we've docked in New York. Alright so far?''

I nodded my head quickly, watching my hands in his, as he absent-mindedly rubbed his thumbs gently against my fingers.

''May I interject?'' I whispered, transfixed for that moment by his hands stroking mine.

''Of course,'' he said.

''Well, I think we should tell them we've been seeing each other for a few months. Say, we met in Belfast, at the harbour. On the boats. _That_ part is true though, isn't it?''

He chuckled, lowering my hands before dropping them softly to my sides.

''Yes, that part is certainly true. We did meet in Belfast Harbour. I believe it was aboard a ferry to Liverpool. Am I right?''

He'd remembered! He'd actually remembered the first time we'd locked eyes and said hello. My face flushed quite noticeably. It must've been six months now, since that day.

''Yes! The ferry to Liverpool. I thought you'd have forgotten.''

Searching my eyes, he shook his head.

''Some things I don't forget.''

There was an unexpected silence in the room, as we both watched one another. The spark was definitely there, and I could feel it. A simmering chemistry; electricity.

Mr. Andrews suddenly cleared his throat, and carried on.

''Well, anyway. We've been with each other for...three months. We met in Belfast on the ferry to Liverpool. Last night, I asked for your hand in marriage. And when we dock in New York, we'll be purchasing your engagement ring. All plausible so far, yes?''

''It is. But I have a question. What if someone asks...about your wife?''

He scratched the back of his head.

''Hmm. I could just say that Mrs. Andrews and I live apart now. Which is true. It's not even a lie.''

''But you have no plans to divorce her, Thomas. And to tell anyone you do, well...would be_ another_ lie. Wouldn't it?''

My questioning seemed to anger him, now. He appeared uncomfortable and defensive; his brow knitting tightly into a frown, his dark eyes narrowing.

''Of course it would! I've no intention of seeking a divorce, and you know that. Let's not get carried away here! My wife was unfaithful to me, but I still adore her.''

I wasn't having this. I couldn't stand by and keep my mouth shut every time the subject of the real Mrs. Andrews came up. It was eating me up inside. In a most unladylike fashion, I grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him close to me, so that our bodies were touching. My bosom crushed into his middle, over his waistcoat.

''But I adore _you_, Thomas!'' I gasped with frustration, still hanging on to his jacket lapels and pressing myself into him, ''Why can't you just accept that your precious wife doesn't care about you? Why did she lie in bed with someone else, Thomas? Long before I came along, I might add. She has too much power over you, and I despise it,"

Mr. Andrews calmly unhooked my fingers from his lapels and stepped back, away from me.

'_'_Don't you walk away from me, Thomas!" I bellowed, literally throwing myself at him in a dramatic fashion. ''I'm sick of you doing this to me! You use me...you have sexual relations with me...you confide in me...you lead me on, then you break my heart!'' I grabbed his sizeable hands and squeezed them, tightly. ''You talk about your wife, I listen. You talk about _Titanic_, I listen. You talk about Rose, I try _not_ to listen. I kiss Will Murdoch, you become jealous. But you still adore Mrs. Andrews? I want to be your wife. I want to bear you children. Why won't you give yourself the chance to_ love_ me, Thomas?''

Mr. Andrews was quiet. His eyes were still on mine, and I could see a flicker of recognition there, as if he'd finally understood everything I'd been saying. After a moment, he answered my question. His tone was hushed.

''I don't _want_ to give myself a chance to love you.''

My eyes began to well with tears, which I hadn't wanted to happen just before meeting all those people for dinner. But I had to probe him further. I needed to know.

''Why not, Thomas? What are you afraid of?''

Mr. Andrews clasped his forehead and groaned softly, with ever growing frustration.

''I-I don't know_._''

I laughed quietly at his answer, not because it was in any way amusing, but because I was so exasperated by his flat refusal to let me_ in_. Did I have to beg with him to afford me a chance? I had given every part of myself to him, and he had taken. Nothing but taken, with gladness. I couldn't continue to deal with being second best to the unfaithful wife at home in Ireland. Choices would have to be made, and soon.

Aware that it must've been close to dinner, I glanced over to the clock on my nightstand: five minutes to the hour.

''Thomas, we either go now and meet with the DeWitt Bukaters and your friends. Or I stay here and you explain to your treasured Rose why your_ fiancee_ cannot be there tonight. Make up your mind, but do it now.''

Not even noticing the clock on the nightstand, he reached into his waistcoat and pulled out his pocket watch, opening it with a flick of his thumb. He nodded his head as he examined the time, closed the timepiece over again and put it back in his waistcoat. He held his elbow out to me.

''I won't let young Rose down. She's making an effort for us, so the least we could do is present a united front. We should go.''

With that, I linked my arm through his, saying nothing in response. The tension was clear between us as we left the room, silently, and he escorted me to the upper deck. I hoped we could appear to be a happily engaged couple, as forced as it would be, for the next two hours. And I just prayed that he could bear to be around me for that long. Was I really that unloveable to him?


	11. Lower Class Gutter Rats

**Author's Note:** Thanks as always to all reviews/subs/faves.

This chapter is my longest yet, but don't let that put you off - it contains lots of Rose, Cal, Jack and some Ismay.

Won't bother with the usual disclaimers, except to say that I've used a little dialogue from the first class dinner party scene in this chapter. Credit goes to James Cameron for that.

* * *

**_Chapter 11: Lower Class Gutter Rats_  
**

It was my first time descending down the famous Grand Staircase. I'd seen it when Mr. Andrews had given the housekeeping staff a tour of the ship several days ago, but until now, I'd never been on it myself. It was very grandiose and ornate, and I could still smell the recently applied varnish on the banisters. All the oak was glistening, polished and pristine. The staircase itself swept down six stories, and the ceiling above us was a special feature; a large, glass dome. The man I loved had designed everything around us, and I could only imagine how much time and effort he'd spent on every tiny detail imagineable.

I wasn't used to behaving quite so much like a genteel lady, even though I was certainly used to being around middle and upper class passengers. To them, I was just a maid. I had to be polite and do as they asked, but I wasn't required to be higher class myself. This was a little different, though. I was going to be in the company of some very well known and highly respected businessmen and their wives, all from the upper classes. Although Mr. Andrews himself was a middle class man, he'd never behaved as though he was above everyone else. He was polite and well spoken but not a snob, and I'd always been attracted to the modest quality about him. However, at this particular moment, I was finding it difficult to even look at him after the way he'd spoken to me in my cabin. I realised that the next couple of hours were probably going to be quite awkward, to say the least.

Having walked to the bottom of the Grand Staircase, still on the arm of Mr. Andrews, I could see that I recognised not one person around me. The air was filled with beautiful music coming from the dining area, and I believe _The Blue Danube_ was playing at this time. Having escorted me down the stairs, Mr. Andrews came to a halt on the carpet.

''I must find Rose,'' he said, his tone almost monotonous and devoid of any real emotion. He glanced at me for a moment, and seeing the stoic expression on my face, shook his head with disapproval. ''You should at least pretend to smile, Mimi,''

_Would you like me to tell you where to shove your bloody smile?_

''Oh, we all know how good I am at pretending. Don't we, Thomas?'' I replied, gritting my teeth.

He'd obviously thought it better not to dignify my remark with a response, and instead scanned the stairs and the carpet areas with his eyes, on the lookout for Miss DeWitt Bukater. Caledon Hockley and the matriarch of the DeWitt Bukaters came into view and began to walk down the stairs, conversing with one another. I heard Mr. Hockley mention that seven thousand tons of Hockley steel being used in the construction of this ship; something Mr. Andrews had never divulged to me before. I hadn't even known what line of work Mr. Hockley was in, and now I realised he was in the steel industry. He must have earned more than a pretty penny.

Mr. Andrews smiled and nodded his head politely at Mr. Hockley and Mrs. DeWitt Bukater, as they saw us at the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Hockley put his finger in the air to command attention.

''Ah yes, Mr. Andrews! My darling fiancee mentioned that you and your good lady would be joining us tonight,'' he said, ''I hear congratulations are in order!"

_Oh goodness, here we go. The first of many..._

Mr. Andrews gave a bashful smile, and replied in a quiet voice, ''Yes, Mr. Hockley. Thank you. Rose has arranged for a toast tonight, if that isn't too intrusive on your evening,''

Mr. Hockley shook his head and looked at me, his eyes flitting up and down my form.

''Not at all, Mr. Andrews. Not at all. She's a fine filly, indeed!"

_A fine filly? What on God's earth am I, some sort of thoroughbred equine?_

I was irritated by Hockley's remark, but Mr. Andrews said nothing to deter him. He'd just kept on smiling and changed the subject.

''Will young Rose be joining us soon, Mr. Hockley?''

Hockley took his pocket watch from his waistcoat, examined the time and scoffed through his nose.

''You mean to tell me she isn't _here_ yet, Mr. Andrews?''

''Well, I haven't _seen_ her, Mr. Hockley.''

Hockley appeared agitated by his fiancee's lack of communication and stormed away, with his mother-in-law-to-be following closely behind. Before either Mr. Andrews or I could say anything, I noticed Miss DeWitt Bukater appear from behind one of the ornamental statues at the top of the staircase. She was arm-in-arm with a good looking young man dressed in a black tuxedo and bow tie, his golden hair greased back. I tapped Mr. Andrews' hand to get his attention.

''There's your answer,'' I said, nodding upwards to the young couple walking down the stairs. Mr. Andrews' face seemed to light up when he saw his treasured Rose.

''Rose!'' he called up to her cheerily, his voice going up an octave.

The young lady smiled and gave a little squeal.

''Oh, look! Jack, I must introduce you to Mr. Andrews."

They descended down the stairs elegantly, and stood with us.

''Dear Rose, may I say you look stunning this evening," Mr. Andrews gushed, lifting the girl's gloved hand and putting it to his lips politely.

_Don't do that, Thomas. And why does she look stunning, but I'm just 'lovely'?_

She _did _look divine; even I knew that. Her scarlet curls were elegantly piled on top of her head and held in place by illustruous jewels, and her gown was a glistening, diamonte covered burgundy and black design. I felt plain and dowdy, next to her. Just a working class maid, trying to make ends meet by bowing to the whims of the middle classes. Miss DeWitt Bukater was marrying into considerable money, with servants at her dispense. I could never compare to the likes of her. Well, it wasn't a wonder that Mr. Andrews' face sparkled every time he set eyes on her.

''Why, thank you, Mr. Andrews,'' Rose replied, ''May I introduce you to the young man who assisted me on deck last night? This is Jack Dawson,''

Mr. Andrews and Jack Dawson exchanged a polite handshake.

''I've heard much about your heroism, Mr. Dawson," Mr. Andrews said, patting the boy on the arm.

''Uh, just call me Jack,'' the lad insisted. ''And it was nothing, really. I couldn't just_ leave_ her there, could I? Of course I helped her, but I'm no hero,''

''Modest as well!" Miss DeWitt Bukater laughed, her eyes fixed on the young man's. ''Jack, this is Thomas Andrews. Mr. Andrews is the architect who designed this wonderful ship, right down to the very last rivet!''

Jack's eyes widened and he glanced all around his surroundings.

''This is all _yours_, Mr. Andrews?''

Mr. Andrews gave a nod.

''As Rose said, I designed her and I oversaw the construction stages. I don't own the ship herself, sadly. That honour belongs to the White Star Line!''

Jack returned the arm-patting gesture.

''Well Mr. Andrews, I'm definitely impressed. This ship is amazing, sir.''

All three chuckled, and Miss DeWitt Bukater then turned to me.

''I hope you don't think me rude, but I've forgotten your name!''

''It's Mimi, Miss DeWitt Bukater,'' I told her, forcing mysef to smile sweetly.

''Of course," she said, touching my arm as she had done on the deck earlier. She turned to Jack. ''Jack, remember I told you that Mr. Andrews and Mimi are joining us tonight to celebrate their engagement? This is the future Mrs. Andrews!"

Jack took my hand and kissed it politely.

''A pleasure, ma'am.''

Goodness, I was sold already. I had my reservations about Miss DeWitt Bukater, but this young man Jack Dawson certainly appeared to be a pleasant chap; nothing like Mr. Hockley had apparently been painting him out to be. Jack and I were on the same wavelength, after all - both from working class backgrounds, although his was American and mine was Irish. But working class was working class, regardless of demographics.

''Well, well, well!" a shrill, booming voice could be heard behind us all.

We turned on our heels, all three of us, to be met with a woman by the name of Margaret Brown, more commonly known as Molly. I had known of her and seen her around the ship, but I'd never met her before. She was a well-dressed, middle aged woman with a matronly shape, always laughing and making slightly inappropriate remarks in a drawled accent. I'd overheard first class passengers sneering under their breath about how she was 'vulgar and uncouth', and I believe this was because she was classed as 'new money'. This was a woman who wasn't afraid to speak her mind, so I'd gathered. And it turned out she was the one who had given Jack the tuxedo he was donning this evening! He'd never worn anything as luxurious in all his life, and his eveningwear actually belonged to Mrs. Brown's son. It seemed that she'd taken Jack under her wing, which was a decent thing to do.

''Y'all are standin' here chattin' away while my belly's a'rumblin'," Mrs. Brown laughed, hooking her arm over Jack's unoccupied elbow. ''Care to escort a lady to dinner, sonny?''

And with that, the five of us headed towards the prestigious dining area. Much like Jack, I felt a little like a duck out of water around all of these 'hoity toity' people. But unlike Jack, I did have a sense of how to behave around them, coming from my line of work as a maid. I knew about table manners and silver service dining etiquette. None of that would be a problem to me. All I had to do was sit there sweetly next to Mr. Andrews for two hours, grinning and bearing the upper class banter. It would've been an easier task if I didn't have to pretend to be Mr. Andrews' fiancee. But alas, I knew that predicament was all of my own doing. What I'd really wanted, was to be his real life fiancee. The pretence just wasn't enough, for me. Maybe I could change that? Or was I really asking for the impossible?

* * *

Mr. Andrews acquainted me with everyone I hadn't met before. John Jacob Astor and his pregnant wife Madeleine were there, as was the Countess Of Rothes, the Duff-Gordons and Colonel Gracie. There were many of us seated around the dinner table; the DeWitt Bukaters, Mr. Hockley, Mr. Andrews and myself, Molly Brown, Jack Dawson and Bruce Ismay. Quite a collection of strong personalities, I might add! I was seated next to Mr. Andrews, who in turn was seated with Miss DeWitt Bukater and Hockley. Molly Brown was to my left, and Jack Dawson was directly across the table from me.

_This should be interesting...  
_

There were waiters milling around the table, filling our drinks glasses with wine and champagne, as everybody chatted with each other. Jack Dawson was very much of interest to them - they wanted to know what he did and where he came from. There were rather intrusive questions from Mrs. DeWitt Bukater, centring on why he'd found such a 'rootless' existence appealing. How incredibly rude of her, I'd thought to myself, and I could see in the eyes of the younger DeWitt Bukater lady that I was not the only one who felt that way. I noticed fleeting glances across the table, between the young lady and Jack Dawson. She seemed ill at ease with her lawfully intended being at her side. I found it all quite intriguing myself, being one to study people's body language and gestures. I could sense a spark there, between this society girl and the steerage boy. I did wonder what was going on between them, and my instincts were telling me something was. But I was not one to tittle tattle on anybody. I had my own secrets, as did Mr. Andrews seated next to me. He'd been rather quiet; mostly listening, instead of talking. The attention was suddenly turned away from the steerage boy, onto him, with the mentionings of this grand liner he had designed. _  
_

''Isn't this ship a_ marvel?_'' crowed Mr. Ismay, looking across the table at Mr. Andrews, ''Thomas here knows every rivet in her! Don't you, Thomas?''

I noticed my pretend-lawfully-intended begin to blush. The reddening of his cheeks was rather endearing.

''I believe I do,'' he smiled, looking down at his napkin, ''All three million of them."

Everybody at the table was appreciatively looking in our direction.

''His blood and soul are in this ship,'' Mr. Ismay continued to gush, as my dearest seemed to want the ground to swallow him up. ''She may be mine on paper, but in the eyes of God, she belongs to Thomas Andrews!"

Being the proud little 'wife-to-be' that I was, I took Mr. Andrews' hand in mine and beamed up at him.

''That she does,'' I whispered, knowing only he could hear me.

His steely resolve with me appeared to be melting, and he caught my glance as he sipped from his wine glass. We looked into each other's eyes for a brief few seconds, and I felt my stomach begin to fill with butterflies. Another smile spread across my lips, and I made sure he was looking at them. I slowly mouthed the words _'I...love...you...', _for his eyes only. Again he looked down at that darned napkin on his lap, but he acknowledged me with a gentle squeeze of my hand. I didn't know _what_ was happening between us any more. Sometimes we were on, other times we were off. Right now, it looked like we were on again. For the time being, anyway. And I was not about to let go of his hand.

''If it wasn't for this man's attention to detail, we wouldn't be in these magnificent surroundings now. Would we, Thomas?'' Mr. Ismay carried on, in what could only be described now as 'overegging the pudding'.

Being the shy and modest man that he was, Mr. Andrews clearly wished for the attention to come to an end. Miss DeWitt Bukater turned to him and touched the top of his arm.

''Your ship is a wonder, Mr. Andrews. Truly.''

I noticed his eyes keenly return to hers, and he'd started to blush, again.

''Thank you, Rose,'' he said quietly, with a bashful nod of his head.

_Keep your attention on me, mister..._

Miss DeWitt Bukater suddenly cleared her throat and sat a little higher in her seat.

''Now, as some of you may or may not know,'' she began addressing the table. ''We have two celebrations here today. The first is, of course, to thank Jack Dawson for his bravery and heroism,''

The diners at our table broke into immediate applause; much to Jack's embarrassment, judging by the look on his face. As the clapping noise died down again, the young lady continued addressing the people seated with us.

''... And the second celebration of the evening, is regarding something which Mr. Andrews here shared with me today.''

_Oh goodness me, here we go now...  
_

Mr. Andrews and I both looked up at Miss DeWitt Bukater as she spoke, my heart starting to pound harder at that moment. All eyes were on the blushing shipbuilder again.

''Mr. Andrews would like you all to be the first to know of his engagement to be married. His intended bride is the lovely Mimi here!"

There were surprised little gasps from the ladies, and the men uttered their approval. They gave another burst of applause, this time for Mr. Andrews and me.

''Well, I'll be blowed!" Molly Brown chuckled, giving quite a hefty nudge to my arm. ''You've just gone and bagged yourself this here handsome shipbuilder, you lucky gal. What I wouldn't give to be in_ your_ shoes, sweetheart!"

I smiled with pride, and laughed along with her.

''He's lovely, isn't he, Mrs. Brown? It's been on the cards for a while now. Hasn't it, darling?''

_Pretences, pretences! __Why can't this be for real, Thomas?  
_

Mr. Andrews nodded his head along with me, as and when required.

''Yes, I suppose it has, dear. Mimi and I - we met several months ago, y'see. On one of the ferries, back in Belfast. Mimi worked as a stewardess. I used to see her on the boats every day. It was - well...'' He looked me directly in the eye and a hint of a smile appeared on his face, as he finished his sentence. '' ...love at first sight,"

A collection of various other noises of approval could be heard around the table, especially from the women present. Mr. Ismay chuckled from the other side of the table and said, quite loudly too,

''My goodness, Andrews. A fast mover, aren't we, old boy? It was only the other day you were telling me about your wife!"

There was a sudden awkward silence around the table. All that could be heard was the sound of the orchestra, playing across the room. My face must have turned deathly white at that moment, I can tell you! Mr. Andrews swallowed hard, watching everybody's stares. Even his treasured young Rose emitted an audible gasp at Mr. Ismay's revelations.

''But really,'' Mr. Andrews began, looking down at the table and back up again, ''things have not been going, um... _well_, with my wife at home. We live separate lives, for the most part,''

It was the abhorrent and pompous Mr. Hockley who interjected next.

''Hmm, that's as maybe, Mr. Andrews. But is it not more sensible to divorce your lady wife_ before_ asking for a common maid's hand in marriage?''

My heart was now thumping so fast, yet the blood had run cold through my arms. A common maid? Hadn't I been a 'fine filly' before? And all this talk about Mr. Andrews' estranged wife was excrutiating. Mr. Andrews could see the horror on my face, and he himself looked utterly bewildered. Miss DeWitt Bukater was clearly disgusted with her fiance.

''Cal!" she shouted, shaking her head at him with disdain. ''How dare you insult my friends? Mr. Andrews and his fiancee are two of the nicest people on this ship. You shouldn't talk out of turn!"

''Oh, _really_. A fuss over nothing!'' Mr. Hockley muttered complacently, rearranging the napkin in his lap. ''Trust you, Rose. Always trying to find the good in these lower class _gutter rats._''

His stinging words were a monumental stab at both myself and at Jack Dawson. Mr. Andrews and Miss DeWitt Bukater had quite clearly had enough of this shocking little tirade. The rest of the people at the table remained silent, watching the drama unfold with wide eyes.

''Thomas and Mimi, I'm_ so_ sorry... '' Miss DeWitt Bukater gasped helplessly, looking at us both. It was unusual that she'd addressed Mr. Andrews by his first name. ''Please accept my sincere apologies for my fiance's shameful behaviour,"

Mr. Andrews shook his head and looked past her, at the dreadful Hockley man. My darling's face was a ruddy pink, though not from blushing, but with anger.

''Young Rose, you have nothing to apologise for.''

He took his napkin from his lap and dropped it onto the table, then stood up from his chair, gesturing to me to also stand. I did so, obediently.

''Mr. Hockley,'' he said, his voice more commanding than before. ''May I remind you who designed the ship you're currently residing in? And I'll thank you to_ never_ insult my fiancee_._''

Hockley's top lip sneered upwards, but he said nothing back. Still aiming daggered looks at that petulant man, Mr. Andrews pulled my hand into his strong grip.

''I'm sorry this evening has been ruined,'' he told everyone else at the table. ''but I cannot and _will_ not be around anyone who thinks my fiancee is something to be trodden on. I find your behaviour to be an abomination, Mr. Hockley,''

There were murmurs of approval from the ladies, and I noticed a look of genuine sympathy on Jack Dawson's face.

''Yeah. Real _slick_, Cal.'' he muttered under his breath.

It was nice to know that he and Rose were on my side. And on Mr. Andrews' side too, of course. I knew then that I needed to stop referring to the girl so formally by her last name. Maybe I had been unfair to her. I could see what a nasty piece of work this Caledon Hockley was. It wasn't a wonder she was keen on the young steerage lad. And maybe, just maybe, I had an ally in her now. I was touched that she'd stuck up for me, and for Mr. Andrews. No-one else at the table had done so. She'd had the guts to do that, for us. And her handsome young friend seemed to be joining in, having the courage to think differently. He was as much of a working class member of society as I was, and he'd also been lumped in with me as some sort of sewer rat. Mr. Hockley seemed to have had no regrets about hurling the insults that evening.

''Rose, I'm taking Mimi away from this now,'' Mr. Andrews said quietly into the ear of the young lady. ''I want to thank you for saying what you did, and for your kindness in thinking about us and our engagement. We'll see you tomorrow, I very much hope,''

Rose nodded her head, her face still visibly upset and rather pained looking.

''I'm _so_ sorry, Mr. Andrews. I will speak with Cal later, I promise you.''

Without another word to anyone, Mr. Andrews escorted me out of the dining room. He guided me along, hurriedly, until we reached the bottom of the Grand Staircase. I'd felt the tears begin to prickle at the corners of my eyes for the last few minutes, but now we were out of there, all I could do was let it go. He pulled me into his chest, sliding his arms around my shoulders, and let me sob my heart out against him.

''_Sssh_... '' he soothed gently, rocking me in his arms. ''It'll be alright, my darling. It'll be alright_,_''

I wasn't sure whether this was part of the pretence or not. I had almost forgotten, at least momentarily, that we were not actually engaged to be married. The past hour had felt quite real to me, truth be told. And of course, I'd _wanted_ it to be real. More than anything. My dream was for him to drop to one knee and ask for my hand in marriage. I knew that wouldn't happen, but it was my fantasy fairytale.

I couldn't help feeling, however, that he was genuinely upset at what had just happened there in the dining room. He was being protective of me, and I liked it. This was what I'd wanted, and I only hoped that it wasn't just a part of 'keeping up appearances'. I so wished for him to be my husband, and my most trusted protector. The question was: how could I get this man to fall in love with _me_?


	12. Closing The Door

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all who've been taking the time to review!

This chapter is quite short and probably easier to read than some of its predecessors.

* * *

**_Chapter 12: Closing The Door_  
**

Mr. Andrews had escorted me up to his luxurious quarters to recover from the debacle in the first class dining room. Upon entering the cabin, he shyly excused the mess of papers on the desk and the general disorganisation of his study area. He poured me a glass of sherry and handed it to me, claiming it would 'steady my nerves'. I wasn't a keen sherry drinker, but feeling the way I did I drank it down, regardless. I'd been so affronted by Caledon Hockley's behaviour towards me that evening, that it was easy for me to put to a side one small fact - and that was, the engagement between Mr. Andrews and I being a complete sham. I had almost begun to convince myself that we were really waiting to be married. _Almost. _

''Oh, Mimi,'' Mr. Andrews sighed, pulling me into his arms, ''I'm sorry this evening turned out to be quite a spectacle. There was no excuse for Mr. Hockley's tone. The man is a disgrace,''

I rested my head against his chest, inhaling the combination of scents from his clothing; faded cologne and a touch of brandy.

''Yes, he is,'' I agreed quietly, my arms snaking their way around his waist.

''But my dear, you must look on the bright side.'' he continued. ''In a few days, you'll be free of ever having the misfortune of seeing Caledon Hockley again. It's not forever, this voyage. Don't let his nonsensical views of social class bring you down. I feel sorry for young Rose, you know. I don't know how she puts up with such an arrogant fool in her life. Poor girl,''

''I'm not sure her interest truly lies with him, if you get my meaning,'' I said, rather cryptically. ''But I will try to have no contact with that man from now on, professionally or otherwise. For the rest of this voyage at least, we'll still have to behave as if we're engaged. You know this, don't you, Thomas?''

Mr. Andrews groaned softly and raised his hand to his forehead, at the realisation that I was correct.

''_Perhaps_. But, well, when we dock in New York on Tuesday, we don't have to see any of these people again. There'll be no need to pretend any more,''

I removed my head from his chest and blinked up at him.

''But...what about Mr. Ismay and the crew? You know them anyway. They'll still be around,''

''This is true, Mimi,'' he replied, pulling my arms away from his waist and taking a step back from me. ''But we can always orchestrate a..._break-up..._situation. I don't know how I managed to dig myself so deeply into this hole. I cannot behave in front of Ismay and Smith and everyone else, as though I_ am_ your lawfully intended! It's always going to be true that I have a wife and a child at home. Ismay will surely find out that we've lied. I regret getting involved in this, Mimi,''

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes upon hearing those words. Yes, it was my own jealousy which had succeeded in tangling us in this web of deceit. But _why_? Why had I even done this in the first place? My reasoning? Mr. Andrews knew what my reasoning was.

I shook my head, and sat down helplessly on the edge of the bed, kicking off the restrictive shoes from my aching feet. I laid my hands in my lap and looked down, fidgeting with my fingers.

''I didn't force you into it, Thomas. You went ahead, with your eyes open. You agreed to take part in a sham engagement, so you didn't look like a fool in front of Rose. Listen to yourself. You're being selfish! Am I really that_ bad_, in your eyes? Is the notion of ever allowing yourself to love me...so..._inconcievable_?''

Mr. Andrews didn't reply. He walked over to the study area and stood silently at his desk, pouring himself a brandy. He lifted the glass to his lips, his eyes fixed on the wall. But he didn't drink the alcohol; his thumb just mindlessly slid over the rim of the glass. He seemed to be contemplating what I'd just said to him. But I couldn't keep doing this. I couldn't keep putting myself through such emotional heartache. He'd been playing around with my feelings for days, now. He knew full well how I'd felt about him, and was still refusing to commit himself to me. It was becoming quite painful to live like this. I knew I couldn't keep pursuing this man, day after day, on this voyage. It was hurting my heart, and hurting my mind. My entire being ached for an unobtainable fantasy; he wasn't going to end his marriage for me.

I moved from the bed again, onto my feet. Everything about my body felt heavy and weary, and my belly was groaning with hunger. Leaving the dinner party after Caledon Hockley's unexpected outburst, meant that neither myself nor Mr. Andrews had even eaten that evening.

''I can't do this any more, Thomas,'' I whispered, so deflated with everything weighing down my mind. ''You clearly don't want to commit to me. I cannot keep myself so open to you. All I want is for you to love me. _Protect_ me. And maybe you never will,''

I quietly padded over to the door, carrying my shoes with me. Refusing to look back at him, my voice was soft. Maybe too soft for him to even hear me.

''_You never will,_'' I repeated.

I left the room with no further comment, and closed the door gently behind me. He didn't even come after me. I'd wanted him to; I'd wanted him to fight for me. I'd wanted him to realise just how wrong and misguided he really was. But clearly, he didn't believe I was worth the fight. Worth the energy. Worth the effort. My heart had shattered into tiny, broken little pieces. The night had been horrendous. All I could do now, was return to my room, remove my blasted party gown, and cry myself to sleep.

Before my tearful eyes had closed, however, I'd decided on my new life plan for the rest of this voyage. Enough had been enough. I had to concentrate much more on my job, and I had to make friends with the people around me. I was due to be a maid on _Titanic_ for at least the next few months, and I couldn't keep cocooning myself within this bubble; a bubble where everything revolved around pursuing a stubborn, married man. There would be no more Thomas Andrews for me. There couldn't be. He would be banished from my personal life aboard the ship, banished from playing around with my mind, and using my body. I could only ever have professional contact with him from now on, as and when necessary. I loved him with every fibre of my being. But what was the use, any more? We were several hundred miles away at sea, yet the unfaithful wife in Ireland was still pulling his strings.

I just couldn't cope with his complacency towards me, and I had to break free of the chokehold that my unrequited love had on my life. I'd made the decision. No more heartbreak. I was closing the door on Thomas Andrews, Jr. It was over.


	13. Mixed Signals

**Author's Note:** Thanks as always to reviews, subs and faves! This chapter has a dash of Cal and Lovejoy, and a little of Jack too.

**Warning - sexually suggestive nature in parts!**

* * *

_**Chapter 13: Mixed Signals  
**_

_April 12th, 1912_

It was the strangest thing, and totally unlike me to be doing this. But for the sake of my own sanity, I blocked Mr. Andrews completely from my head the next morning. I didn't think about him. If my train of thought even started to wander, I would scold myself out loud and make a very deliberate attempt to pretend he didn't exist. It was easier, that way. He'd been occupying my mind for much too long now, and he didn't deserve that space in my head any longer. Call it a spring cleaning of the mind, if you will.

On my way to B Deck to begin my housekeeping chores for the day, I came across young Jack Dawson, the steerage boy from last night's dinner party. The lad was looking a little shifty, hovering around near the first class Grand Staircase. His eyes were darting back and forth around his surroundings, and he was hopping from one foot to the other, his hands buried in his pockets. He was an odd sight, because steerage passengers were never permitted around those parts. He looked different to last night, which of course I'd expected. His golden hair was limp and partly hanging in his eyes, and his well-worn clothes grey and in need of laundering. But it was definitely him, there was no doubt. I frowned at his presence, and decided to approach him with a little caution.

"Um, hello there? Jack Dawson, isn't it?"

He seemed a tad startled at my appearing suddenly in front of him.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah," he said with a nod of his head, looking over his shoulder and then back at me again. "You're Mr. Andrews' fiancee, right?"

I smiled politely, and felt my cheeks flush a little.

"Well, I was. We, erm, decided to call it off. After…after what happened at dinner last night."

Partly the truth, after all; just somewhat embellished.

Jack, still a little on the jumpy side, seemed sympathetic.

"Really? Well, that's a real shame, miss. I'm sorry to hear that. Y'know, between you and me? That guy Cal. He's a real-"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, as the first class door was flung open and Mr. Hockley with his valet came charging through at full speed.

"There he is!" Hockley barked, pointing his finger straight at Jack, "Back here again!"

Jack grinned, and shot him a rebellious look with his mischievous blue eyes.

"See what I mean, Miss?" he said, loud enough for Hockley to hear.

Hockley looked at us both, standing there together, and snorted.

"I might've guessed. Last night's sewer rats, sticking together! Lower class filth, the pair of you."

Well, I wasn't going to let that nasty piece of work get to me any more. As Mr. Andrews had pointed out, in another three days or so, he'd be off this ship anyway. A witty retort was very much in need, I thought.

"I'd say that buying a young girl's love and affection is actually a pretty classless thing to do, Mr. Hockley," I perked up, not even caring if he reported me to my superiors. He'd been the one to start this nonsense in the first place.

Hockley's face was a picture. His dark eyes widened and his mouth opened as if to say something cutting, but deciding against it. He raised an eyebrow dramatically, and stood forward into Jack's personal space.

"Stay away from my fiancee, you scum. There will be serious…repercussions…if you don't."

At that moment, he gestured to his valet to come forward. The tall, middle aged man did so, and pulled his suit jacket to one side. A pistol was nestled inside his inner pocket.

"Mr. Lovejoy is not afraid to dispose of the vermin around here..." Mr. Hockley continued, with an exaggerated smile, "…in the most appropriate way, you understand,"

Jack took a step back, and I must admit, so did I. I had never in my life seen a firearm before. Horrible, threatening things; I wanted no part in that.

"Um, maybe you should leave now, Jack," I said, looking towards the doorway. "We don't want things to get ugly around here, do we?"

Jack pulled an unlit cigarette from his trouser pocket and casually put it in his mouth. He gestured a nod of his head in my direction, as if to thank me for being polite enough to allow him to be there. Then his eyes darted to Mr. Hockley and Lovejoy, the gun-toting valet.

"I'm not afraid of you, Cal. Or the undertaker, there."

He turned on his heel and casually walked back through the first class doorway, towards the direction of steerage.

"See y'round, Miss!" he called out to me, disappearing out of sight.

A most bizarre situation, to say the least. Mr. Hockley and Lovejoy watched me in silence, their faces still unappreciative of my cutting remark. But I cared not one jot about them. They left the lobby without another word, and that suited me just fine. I did wonder though - what on earth was Jack Dawson, a steerage passenger, doing around these parts? And why were Mr. Hockley and his valet going after him, issuing such threats? There'd been a mention of Hockley's fiancee, so it had to be something to do with Rose. It appeared that my sneaking suspicions from last night may have been quite correct. Perhaps Rose was better suited to a lower class dreamer, rather than a businessman whose idea of marriage was little more than female ownership. But of course, none of that was any of my business.

**...**

Mr. Andrews was scheduled to show more passengers around the outer deck today, but I'd wanted nothing to do with any of that. I had my usual duties to attend to, and whilst heading to the linen cupboard to replenish the towels, I did see him. He was preoccupied at first, his trusty notebook tucked under his arm and rolled up blueprints of the ship's layout clasped in his other hand. I tried very hard to ignore his presence as he hurried up the corridor. I knew he'd seen me; his eyes had glanced sheepishly in my direction. I couldn't let this mess bother me any more, and I had to stick to my guns. The heartache served no purpose in my life.

I continued to move the towels from the linen cupboard onto my trolley, pretending as though I hadn't seen him. But he was now heading straight towards me, whether I'd wanted him to or not. Placing his notebook and the blueprints on top of the towels on my trolley, he didn't say a word at first and proceeded to take me by the elbow, pulling me into the confines of the small walk-in cupboard. The expression on my face must've been one of confusion.

"Mr. Andrews, what on earth do you think you're doing?" I gasped, wriggling away from his grip on my elbow.

I'd decided that, if I was ever going to address him again, it would be with professionalism only. I refused to call him Thomas any more.

"I need to talk to you, Mimi," he implored, his large eyes pleading. "Will you meet with me later_?"_

_Don't give in, Mimi. Don't let him worm his way back into your mind again._

Sticking to those guns of mine, I quickly shook my head and gave him a firm, loud, "No."

"Please!" he insisted, raising his eyebrows as he tilted his head to the side.

I planted my knuckles on both of my hips, jutted out my chin, and tapped my foot on the floor impatiently.

"I'm giving you thirty seconds to get out of here and leave me alone, Mr. Andrews!"

He heaved a long sigh, holding up his hands defensively.

"Won't you at least meet with me later, so we can speak?"

Still positioned with my knuckles on my hips and my foot tapping the floor, I scoffed at him.

"Why? I'm finished with everything to do with you, Mr. Andrews. We communicate within a professional capacity, but that's all."

He swallowed a lump in his throat, and his mind seemed to be turning something over. Exactly what, I could only guess.

"I understand why you're reacting like this," he said after a moment, still using his puppydog eyes on me. "I've hurt you, haven't I? I've hurt you a lot,"

My hands came down from my hips, and I stopped with the foot tapping.

"Hurt me?" I repeated loudly. "Mr. Andrews, you've made an absolute fool out of me!"

"And I didn't mean to!" he insisted, becoming more animated in what was a small space. "If…if I wasn't already betrothed to Mrs. Andrews, then I would feel so much more comfortable with…with…"

His voice trailed off for a moment, and again his mind seemed to be turning more cogs.

"I have some maintenance to attend to on E Deck now, but I don't want things to end like this between us. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Give me that chance. I-I cannot ignore my marriage and my daughter back home. You really must understand this. But that doesn't mean we can't…well -"

I cut him off, abruptly.

"No, Mr. Andrews. I _was_ happy being your…your tawdry little secret, to begin with. I'm not happy with that any more!"

_Stop this madness now, you stupid woman._

I forced him backwards by pressing my hands to his chest, and he stumbled into a bale of fluffy white towels, knocking them all onto the floor.

"I'm not happy with that," I repeated, a mischievous grin slowly spreading across my face. "I will only be happy if the current Mrs. Andrews ceases to exist, and I take her place. But, well…we know that is not going to happen now, don't we?"

As I spoke those words, I slid my hands slowly over the heavy fabric of his buttoned-up overcoat. I was being very deliberate, of course. My hand travelled up to his necktie and grabbed it, yanking his six feet tall frame forward.

"You have choices to make, Mr. Andrews," I commanded, playfully entwining his tie around my fingers.

I'm not exactly sure why I let the situation that occurred next, well,_ happen_. It's hard for me to remember how we got from one moment to the other so quickly, considering my initial anger towards him. But despite my tough talking, Mr. Andrews could not resist me. And, I'm ashamed to say, I could not resist him. Somehow, in that tiny walk-in cupboard full of clean linen and virginal white towels, we ended up doing unspeakable things we shouldn't have been doing. And the riskiness of it was, indeed, very appealing. The door wasn't lockable from the inside, and there were footsteps walking the corridor as Mr. Andrews and I devoured each other on top of a pile of pristine bed linen. It was cramped in there, and his tall, broad frame was struggling for space to move. But that didn't stop him, and it didn't stop me, I can assure you. Goodness me; I chewed on his bottom lip and raked my fingers through his wavy hair, as his enormous hands steadied me by my waist, holding me on top of his lap.

"I…really have to get to…E Deck…" he panted, but I hushed him up by smothering my mouth against his.

_Mimi, you've let yourself down!_

I really fought against all my nagging inner thoughts, as his hands found their way under my dress and up my thighs.

_What happened to closing the door for good on Thomas Andrews, you foolish woman?_

"There's a carpenter waiting…for my assistance...on E Deck…I have to…oh, God strike me down…" Mr. Andrews gasped through shallow breaths, as I tugged open his trousers. There was no time to waste as we got carried away in that stuffy little storage room.

Yes, it was shocking. Such dreadful behaviour! We were risking everything by what we were doing in there. But I didn't care about that at the time. I wanted him to need me, in every way possible. If I had to behave like a filthy strumpet to convince him that he couldn't live without me, then so be it. Of course it went against everything I'd told him, and everything I'd told myself. We were not behaving appropriately, within a professional capacity, as we ground our partly clothed bodies together in that cramped linen cupboard. And my inner monologue was correct - I'd let myself down, by letting him back in again.

We'd been in there several minutes by the time we'd finished our risque business. Afterward, we quickly adjusted ourselves and put on the items of clothing we'd managed to remove within the confines of that small space. It was me who tumbled out of the cupboard door first, strands of unruly curls falling into my face and a smirk over my lips. I smoothed my apron down and straightened out my skirt as Mr. Andrews emerged, a moment after, sorting out his necktie and buttoning up the front of his overcoat again. His face was smeared with my coral lipstick and his hair was curlier than usual, thanks to my hands roughing it all up.

I cleared my throat, feigning innocence, as none other than Rose, hand-in-hand with Jack Dawson, hurried past us in the lobby. They obviously hadn't clocked that we were there, as we heard the frantic echo of a man's footsteps chasing them along the corridor. Mr. Hockley's valet Lovejoy, the gentleman with the gun I had seen earlier, was in hot pursuit of the two. He breezed past us, like a man on a mission.

"You can't run forever! We'll find you!" we heard him holler at them from down the corridor, before he disappeared out of sight.

Mr. Andrews furrowed his brow and looked down at me. He didn't mention our naughty escapade.

"Something isn't right there. I hope young Rose isn't in too much trouble."

I rearranged the fallen towels onto my trolley again.

"Oh, she's in trouble alright," I murmured, glancing around me and then back to him. "I ran into Jack Dawson earlier. Hockley and the valet threatened him with a gun. Something to do with Jack seeing Rose? I definitely picked up on that,"

Mr. Andrews seemed concerned, and shook his head urgently.

"Well, I won't let anything happen to her, Mimi. I hope the steerage lad is treating her in a way that a lady should be treated - "

I interjected before he could ramble on any more.

"When I saw him earlier, he seemed very nice. He probably treats her better than Hockley, so keep your nose out of their business! It's not them you should be thinking about. Whatever is going on between me and you - why don't ye be thinking about that?"

Mr. Andrews withdrew the handkerchief from the top pocket of his overcoat, and wiped the lipstick marks from his face.

"I am! But you know I will always feel protective of young Rose, Mimi."

"Well, she doesn't need you to protect her!" I sulked, folding another towel for my trolley. "Jack Dawson seems to be doing a grand job of that, by the look of it. I need to know where we go from here - you and me. This can't keep happening. One minute, you want me. The next minute, you cast me aside again. You know what I want, Mr. Andrews…" I lowered my voice. "Leave your wife, and marry _me_."

He reached under his coat into his waistcoat, and removed his pocket watch.

"You know I can't do that, Mimi," he sighed, thumbing open the timepiece and glancing at the clock face. "Look, I really must head to E Deck now. The carpenter will be waiting and I'm already fifteen minutes later than expected,"

He stuffed the pocket watch back into his waistcoat, and gathered up his notebook and the blueprints from my trolley.

"I saw Rose this morning, before this nonsense with Lovejoy. She apologised again for Hockley's behaviour last night, but it's not her fault that he's a rotten scoundrel. I told her that our um, 'engagement'…had been called off. I thought it was in our best interests to say so, under the circumstances. We no longer have to go through with that charade."

Although I was a little annoyed with him for admitting this, I knew it was only right to play fair; I _had_ said the same thing to Jack Dawson earlier in the day. I'd told him that Mr. Andrews and I were no longer engaged to be married, when of course the truth was, we were never engaged in the first place. It was something I was going to push for, though. I was determined to grind Mr. Andrews down over the matter, and I had enough time to do it. We weren't due to arrive in New York for another three days yet. Or perhaps two, if Mr. Ismay had his way. But I felt that if Mr. Andrews and I couldn't stay away from each other, then there was hope, no matter how little, of convincing him to leave his wife. Well, surely?

"It may have been a farce to you, Mr. Andrews, but to me, it felt almost…real. For a while, at least." I sighed, wistfully looking away over his shoulder at nothing in particular. "You know why,"

Mr. Andrews touched my arm with his free hand.

"And you know why we can never be married, Mimi," he said gently, stepping forward to kiss my forehead. "I'm sorry,"

Without even so much as a goodbye, he hurried off up the corridor to meet with the carpenter on his godforsaken E Deck.

Mixed signals, different messages. Again, and again. He was a man of such high intelligence, but was clearly not in touch with the workings of the female mind. A typical man, unfortunately. But his backpedalling and excuses were so draining for me to listen to, and to deal with, emotionally. I wished I'd stuck to my original plan of refusing to let him dominate my mind and my feelings. Yet, I couldn't even stick it out for one whole day. I was useless; pathetic and lovesick. Desperate to be married. Desperate to have children. But not with just any man; the one man on the whole ship who thought he was holier than thou by keeping to his marriage vows, even though his own wife was a two-timing harlot herself. There was little logic there, as far as I could see. But Mr. Andrews was stubborn, and stubborn gentlemen of a certain age are usually difficult customers. I still had three days left to change his mind. Or, so I'd believed at the time…


	14. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note**: The title of this chapter is from the Tom Jones & Cerys Matthews song, 'Baby, It's Cold Outside'. Very apt!

Thanks to all readers!

* * *

_**Chapter 14: Baby, It's Cold Outside  
**_

_**April 13th, 1912  
**_

_**3.00 pm**_

A most uninspiring morning had passed me by, and it was only by the afternoon that things had started to become interesting again.

My suspicions about Rose and Jack had been correct, and confirmed to me by none other than the couple themselves. I'd caught them laughing and running hand in hand through the crewmen's kitchen area, again trying to escape from Hockley's valet, Lovejoy. They certainly kept that man on the run. I hadn't been at all surprised by Rose's unconventional union with the steerage lad. This intelligence and earthiness of hers, which Mr. Andrews had spoken of, had obviously been wasted on a rich narcissist like Caledon Hockley. It was clear Rose cared little about the money she'd been due to marry into. She was far more interested in this boy, whose passion for art had fuelled his desire to travel with not a dime in his pocket. As he himself had said at dinner the night before, he was happy as long as he had the air in his lungs and a few blank sheets of paper. There was something about Rose's rebellion which I couldn't help but admire - secretly, of course.

_**8:00 pm**_

As evening fell, my long shift for the day had drawn to a welcome close. On my travels back to my cabin, I came across Mr. Andrews speaking with a group of women in the corridor near the staff quarters. What struck me about this situation, was that none of these women were in the slightest bit finanicially comfortable. Quite the opposite, in fact. They were dressed not too differently to myself when I wasn't on duty, and they were most definitely from steerage. They were flocked around him like moths to a flame, and he was smiling. His voice was cheerful, and he was animated in his gestures. I wasn't sure at first what the thrilling topic of conversation was, but as I walked further towards them, it became clear he was talking about his beloved ship. Of course, that should've come as no surprise! There were two things he'd talked about which had always lit up his face; one was _Titanic_, and the other was Rose. I had never seen him light up in such a way about me before. He seemed undecided on what to feel about me, unless I was partially clothed! I must admit, as I'd watched him interact so naturally with these young women from the third class, the fires of envy had begin to ignite within me. I'd felt similarly about his interactions with young Rose at the start of the voyage. But this was a little different, somehow. Perhaps it was because they were just like me: working class and struggling to get by.

The women appeared to hang on to his every word as he spoke and gestured his hands around in the air. I felt deflated as I tiptoed past, being sure not to interrupt his fascinating story of creating _Titanic'_s fine inner settings. I dared not say a word to him. His arms were still gesticulating the ship's grandeur, as he caught sight of me passing by his captivated group of women. He seemed to do a double take, I suppose you would call it, when he saw me. I don't know why, as he knew my cabin wasn't too far away down the corridor. He continued on with his grand arm waving and his excitable tone of voice, but his eyes had begun to dart from his female audience to me, and back again. It appeared quite flirtatious, as though he was trying to communicate by firing intermittent peeks across the floor at me. I gave him little glances over my shoulder as I continued to my room, and I felt my cheeks slowly beginning to flush. As I approached the door of my cabin, I rooted around in my apron pocket for my room key. I then overheard Mr. Andrews politely excusing himself from his little harem of third class female admirers.

''It has been a pleasure talking to you beautiful ladies this evening,'' he gushed, a cheeky Irishman's grin on his face, ''I do hope you will enjoy the rest of your stay onboard our wonderful vessel. Don't be worrying about a thing! You're in safe hands. Sleep soundly, now!"

The steerage women said their goodnights in return, and disappeared down the corridor in an audible hubbub of swoons and girlish giggles. He was a charmer, for sure. I knew that first hand! Placing his hat back on his head and adjusting the brim, he then headed straight towards me. I still hadn't located the key in my apron pocket yet, though I probably hadn't been looking too hard after being distracted by him. I folded my arms beneath my bosom, and lifted my eyebrows as he stood in front of me.

''Well well, Mr. Andrews! Quite the charmer with the ladies, aren't we?''

He smiled and shook his head dismissively.

''Oh, I was just answering their questions, dear Mimi. Two of the ladies hail from Comber like myself, can you believe? A small world, for sure. They stopped me for a chat. Goodness, they were fascinated to know how many rivets hold this thing together! And they'd enquired about the lifeboats, too. They noticed the same thing that young Rose did, b'God."

''And that would be...?''

He lowered his voice a little, glimpsing down the corridor for any eavesdroppers.

''Well, that there aren't enough lifeboats on deck for all the passengers onboard.''

My eyebrows knitted together into a frown. I'd heard something about this before, but I'd always believed it wasn't an issue to anyone but Mr. Andrews himself. I hadn't been paying too much attention to the details at the time, but I did remember that he'd insisted on providing as many lifeboats as necessary for the voyage. Mr. Ismay and White Star Line had overruled his insistence, on the grounds that the decks would appear too cluttered. My dear Mr. Andrews had been such a stickler for detail and safety, but Mr. Ismay had shrugged off his views as nothing more than _'ludicrous paranoia'. _That heated little incident between them, was something I did remember. But it had been well publicised that _Titanic_ was virtually unsinkable, so the need for more lifeboats was deemed quite minimal. He'd been charming and polite on the surface, but underneath that, Mr. Andrews had always felt insulted by Mr. Ismay's complacency.

''But how could a few uneducated women from steerage possibly know how many lifeboats would be needed?'' I asked him, genuinely interested in his answer.

''Oh, dear Mimi! Must you be quick to judge the depth of their knowledge?''

Well, I suppose he had a point, given my own personal background. I was of a lower class, but I did not consider myself unintelligent.

''It was something they told me they'd noticed whilst walking the lower decks today,'' he continued, his voice subdued as before, ''I embellished the truth a little, so as not to worry them. I told them I've built everyone a good ship, strong and true. And that I did, Mimi. That is no lie.''

My mind started to turn with questions, and he could see that I looked deep in thought.

''You're unusually quiet now,'' he said, watching my pensive expression, ''What're you thinking?''

I shook my head quickly, forcing myself to banish the thoughts I'd been going over in my head. Mr. Andrews was a highly intelligent man, and if he'd insisted on more lifeboats being located on the ship, I couldn't see why they shouldn't have been there. No sea vessel was completely unsinkable, after all. Accidents were rare, but always had the potential to happen. I would trust Mr. Andrews and his sense of safety any day, over Mr. Ismay's vanity issues. I don't know why I'd started to think about these things now, having already known about them before. Maybe it was the rather apprehensive tone of Mr. Andrews' voice which had sparked more of an awareness within me. I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

''I'm thinking, maybe I need some fresh air,'' I replied, feeling the oddest sense of foreboding washing over me.

Mr. Andrews frowned and instinctively placed his hand on my forehead for a moment, checking my temperature.

''Oh, m'dear, are ye coming down with something? You _do_ feel a bit clammy.''

I glanced down at my boots, brushing off his concern as something of little importance.

''I just need some air. Will you come with me to the promenade deck, Thomas? I don't want to go on my own at this time of evening.''

That warm smile I adored so much had returned to his face, and he offered me his elbow chivalrously.

''But of course, Mimi. I've nothing else to do for now, which makes a refreshing change.''

I linked my arm through his, relaxing a little more than before.

''I thought you'd be having another evening hidden away in your cabin, with your head buried in blueprints and diagrams. I know what you're like, Thomas!''

''That's my usual evening routine, yes,'' he said, as we began to stroll arm in arm down the lobby. ''A change does a body good though, don't you agree? And, um...well...does this mean you're not as angry with me as you were?''

''Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that!" I scoffed, lightheartedly.

He looked down at me, and his eyes lingered on mine.

''I thought I'd ask because you didn't refer to me so formally this time.''

My goodness, he was absolutely right! I hadn't even thought about calling him Mr. Andrews. To say the name _'Thomas' _had become quite natural to me, and it felt odd to refer to him more formally by his surname now. I had only been formal to prove a point, after all. My resolve had melted rather quicker than I'd expected it to, without even realising.

''Well, which name would you prefer me to call you?'' I asked him playfully, as we continued to walk out to the promenade deck.

''I do prefer you calling me Thomas,'' he chuckled, ''When you call me Mr. Andrews, it usually means I'm in trouble with you!"

We both laughed, partly because it was amusing and partly because there was actually a lot of truth to it.

Like the gentleman that he was, Mr. Andrews held open the outer door of the promenade deck, and waited for me to step outside first. He followed me directly behind, and we both stood behind the safety railings to look out over the night-blackened sea. Well, it was much colder out there than I'd realised it would be. The windchill was quite something, and I couldn't foresee the pair of us staying out there for very long. Feeling the goosebumps lining my arms under my thin sleeves, I rested my elbows casually on the railing and deeply inhaled the frosty air. Mr. Andrews rubbed his hands together as he stood close to me, his shoulders rising up with the icy chill.

''It's rather nippy out here tonight, so we shouldn't stay long,'' he said, his breath quite visible as white wisps in the air, ''These sorts of weather conditions sometimes make me nervous, Mimi,''

''Nervous?'' I repeated, my own breath becoming visible now, ''What d'you mean?''

Still rubbing his hands together for warmth, he said, ''Well, there have been iceberg warnings the past two days, y'see. There haven't been any substantial 'bergs spotted in our field of vision yet, but we're verging into this territory now. Feel how chilly it is? That's because we'll be in the path of the 'bergs within several hours,''

Goodness gracious. Well, no wonder I'd felt that strange sense of foreboding earlier. I did recall, the day before, Captain Smith being advised that we'd be heading through an iceberg field soon. It looked as though this would actually be happening, as Mr. Andrews had just told me, within several hours.

''Try not to worry,'' he said, watching the somewhat concerned expression spreading across my face, ''It's actually normal for this time of year. I've been on voyages where we've been through the path of an iceberg field. And I'm still here, aren't I?''

I shivered, still looking out over the jet black sea in front of us. My teeth had begun to chatter, without my realising.

''My dear, you'll catch your death out here!" Mr. Andrews gasped, unbuttoning his heavy overcoat and removing it, slipping it over my shoulders protectively.

I liked it when he was so gentlemanly like this. I'd adored such a gesture, and the feeling of the warmth and the smell of his coat. The coat was enormous on me and the hem touched the deck floor, but I would've walked around in it all evening if he'd have let me. There was something very chivalrous and romantic about a man offering his coat to a woman. I hugged the garment around my tiny frame, and my eyes drifted above his head to the sky. It was beautiful - so clear, so black. The stars were out in full force, and there were no clouds to be seen; a typical cold and frosty night out at sea. Mr. Andrews' eyes followed mine upwards, and he gasped softly to himself in wonderment.

''Extraordinary, isn't it? All those stars! I can see every one of them tonight. I used to watch the stars with my telescope when I was a lad. Do you see The Plough over there, to your left?''

He pointed above my head, and yes, I could see The Plough, in all its glistening and distinctive glory. I wasn't familiar with all the constellations, but The Plough was one my father had made sure I'd known.

''It's pretty, eh? See it?''

I nodded my head, and replied with a whisper.

''I do.''

It was then that we both seemed to realise the double meaning of the two innocuous words I had just said; Mr. Andrews had noticed it, as well as myself. His gaze came down from watching the stars, and he looked thoughtfully into my eyes.

''Well, maybe...maybe one day,'' he said, the tone of his voice becoming softer and soothing.

At that time, I genuinely didn't know what he was implying.

''Maybe one day, what? I don't follow,'' I shivered, pulling his coat tighter over my body.

He shook his head dismissively.

''It-it doesn't matter.''

I gave him a confused glance, but didn't think anything more of it. It was just too cold to stay out there on the deck any longer. Knowing what I was thinking about the cold, Mr. Andrews put his arm around my shoulders and said, ''We need to get you inside now, dear. It's much too chilly for a lady to be out tonight,''

Giving him a nod, I accompanied him back inside the enclosure of the deck area once more. We'd only been on the promenade for five minutes, but that had already been enough for me to bear! I could not recall ever coming so close to an iceberg field in my previous travels to sea. I'd just hoped that we would pass through those next few hours peacefully and unscathed. The crew were aware of the 'bergs, and to assume they would take risks seemed such an insult to them all.

Mr. Andrews escorted me back to my cabin, and I gave him his coat a little grudgingly. I would've slept with it on, if he'd have let me!

''Another two days, and we'll be in The Promised Land,'' he said, as he folded the coat over the crook of his arm. ''Have you ever been to the United States before, Mimi?''

I fished around my apron pocket for my room key, and raised my eyebrows excitedly at his question.

''No, I haven't! I'm so looking forward to seeing the Statue Of Liberty with my own eyes. I've heard so much about her."

''As have I,'' he said, pulling his pocket watch out from his waistcoat and observing the time, ''I must visit the finest jewellery store in all of New York whilst I'm there. You will remind me before we dock, now, won't you?''

A quizzical expression came over my face, as I slotted the key into the lock on the door.

''The finest jewellery store? Are you thinking of treating yourself to some shiny new cufflinks, Thomas?''

He chuckled and shook his head, closing over his pocket watch and slipping it back under his blazer.

''No. That'd be quite selfish of me, wouldn't it? There's a lady in my life who I think I should make my peace with, and the United States is always the place to start afresh. Don't you agree?''

My heart began to pound hard in my chest. I was sure the flush creeping up my neck and my cheeks would be visible to his eyes. Goodness, after all the effort I'd made and the affection I'd shown him, it seemed he was actually starting to believe we had something special! He was finally coming round to my way of thinking. I felt so relieved that my face lit up with joy. My chance to start a new life with the man I loved, and be happy for once! I was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

''Oh yes, Thomas! New York would be perfect. Goodness, I can't believe we-''

Seemingly unaware that I'd even started to speak, he interrupted me. Perhaps he'd been lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

''Well, I know my wife isn't so keen on diamonds,'' he said lightly, a far away smile playing on his lips. ''She's not one for extravagant jewels. Will you help me look for something when we dock in New York, Mimi? I'd value a woman's opinion on what might be suitable. She's hard to please,"

The euphoria that had been evident all over my face faded away in an instant, and my heart sank as low as it could reach. I couldn't hide the disappointment in my body language, and I'm sure he noticed a change in my posture. Seeing the pained look in my eyes, he realised that he'd put his very large foot in his even larger mouth.

''_Oh_. I do apologise,'' he sighed sheepishly, patting my arm gently, ''You thought...? Oh Mimi, I'm sorry, I...''

I'd let him break my heart for what had seemed to be the hundredth time on this bloody voyage, and we still had two days to go yet before entering American seas. Maybe he could aim for a record of one thousand heartbreaks by the time the ship actually docked.

Shaking my head, I battled back the tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. I said nothing more to him as I entered my cabin, and deliberately closed the door in his face. I made sure I locked it behind me, so that he wouldn't dare come in after me. I'd thought he might try and talk to me through the door, but he didn't. He must've just walked away.

_Why am I so upset? Don't be surprised. He does this sort of thing every time. When in heaven's name am I going to wise up to him? He doesn't even want me in that way._

My inner thoughts had always been the rational part of my conscience speaking. I knew I had to do something about Mr. Andrews giving off so many mixed signals. How could he always be so blissfully unaware of how he had come across to me? I didn't care a jot about his Godforsaken wife. I'd wanted to scream in his face that I wished she was dead. Yes, that was a _horrendous_ way to feel about a woman I'd never met! I'm not saying it was right. But she was behind all of this. How was I really supposed to feel? I could be a step-mother to his daughter and we could have children of our own. He could be with me, and I'd be faithful to him as his wife had not been. But she still possessed a hefty strangle-hold of him, all the way out there at sea. I had to change that, and I had to do it quickly. In two days, we would be in New York. I needed him to see that he could never go back home to Ireland while she was still his spouse. I couldn't let him go back to her after this voyage was over. I wasn't going to admit defeat! My plan was to pull out all the stops and make an extra special effort - something he just couldn't refuse. I had just one more chance left to convince him to leave his unfaithful strumpet of a wife for me.


	15. Desperate Lengths

**_Author's Note: _**This chapter is an Andrews-free zone, but he'll return soon.

Thanks as always to all subs/faves/reviewers!_  
_

* * *

_**Chapter 15: Desperate Lengths**  
_

_Now, many of you will be thinking that I was nothing more than a glutton for punishment. And looking back all those years, I can see that I was. I really was. But at twenty seven, being young and naive and heartsick, I just couldn't admit it. Mr. Andrews was all I'd wanted, and all I'd craved. I realise now, many years afterwards, how obsessive I must have appeared. I'd known how much his indecisiveness had hurt me over and over again, but that hadn't stopped me pursuing him. Every low blow he dealt me was agony to my heart, but I was losing my ability to tell him 'no'. If anything, his playing around with my feelings only served to make me more determined! I had one more chance to convince him to leave his wife and make a new start with me, and I wasn't going to waste that chance. Nobody on the voyage knew that Titanic would never make it to New York, and at that time, I was no different. If I could go back to April 1912 and change the way I did certain things, then I would. But none of us onboard foresaw the lifechanging events that would soon unfold. It had felt like business as usual, so to speak, on the day of April the fourteenth._

April 14th, 1912

_8:30 am  
_

I was working a different shift pattern than usual, with my housekeeping duties beginning at three o'clock in the afternoon, instead of a morning start. This suited me just fine, in light of what I wanted to do with regards to Mr. Andrews. I could certainly take advantage of having the morning to myself, free of changing bed linen and making endless pots of tea. I had a mission to accomplish, and a plan had formed in my head the previous night before bed. I needed to find Rose, and more specifically, Jack Dawson. He would be the one to help me out with what I wanted to do next. Yes, that's right! Jack Dawson, the young lad from steerage who was breaking all the rules by courting a first class socialite. They'd been leading Mr. Hockley and Lovejoy the valet on a merry dance all the way around the ship, or so I'd heard from the other housekeeping staff. I could quite believe it though, from what I'd seen before.

I wasn't sure where to find them; would Rose be with her mother and Caledon Hockley on the first class deck, or would she be with Jack and his friends down in steerage? My guess was as good as anyone else's. I went with my first instincts, and made my way down the decks to steerage. As I marched on through one of the many corridors, I quite literally bumped into First Officer William Murdoch in my haste. He'd come out of his cabin and we'd slammed straight into each other, which must have indicated how fast I'd been walking down that corridor! However, it was initially an awkward moment. I hadn't seen him in two days, in fact, not since the time on the promenade where I'd grabbed him for a kiss to make Mr. Andrews jealous. Mr. Murdoch smiled at me, and readjusted the officer's cap on his head after our collision.

''Miss Monaghan! I'm very sorry. Are you alright, lassie?''

I coyly returned the smile.

''Yes, Will, thank you. I'm the one at fault here, rushing around like this!''

He shook his head, quite unperturbed.

''In a hurry to get somewhere at this hour?''

''Oh, I'm looking for the young lady, Rose DeWitt Bukater. Her gentleman friend from third class should be able to help me with something,'' I said, somewhat cryptically.

I'd noticed, as I was speaking, that Mr. Murdoch's eyes held a sudden glimmer of mischief about them. But he was polite enough in conversing with me.

''I think I saw them heading to steerage not too long ago.'' he said. ''It's a very unusual relationship, isn't it? Unconventional. Not that it's anyone else's business, of course,''

''Well, I know that if I had the choice, I'd marry for love and not for money,'' I sighed, moving a few stray curls from my face. ''It's very romantic to care so little about social class and fall in love with someone's heart,''

Mr. Murdoch laughed quietly to himsef, and looked me up and down, subtley.

''I agree with you, Miss Monaghan. I'm interested to know, though, and pardon me for being so forward - but, what_ is_ happening between you and Mr. Andrews?''

His sudden questioning had caught me off guard, and I blinked with surprise.

''What? I don't know what you mean,''

Mr. Murdoch again laughed, this time, a little louder.

''Oh, come on, now. Remember, the promenade deck? We shared a_ kiss_ together. Ater that, I heard all these whispers that you and Andrews were engaged, which certainly came as news to me. I'd always assumed Andrews already had a wife, and you'd said you were just friends. _Then _I hear that you're no longer engaged to be married! I mean, Miss Monaghan, it all sounds a bit, well, y'know...''

I was aghast, and my face certainly told him so before the words came out of my mouth.

''Will!'' I gasped, looking around me in the hope that no-one else would be hearing all this. ''I'll thank you to keep your nose out of my business!"

Again, his eyes darted up and down my form, and I was in no doubt he was admiring the view. Well, I only had myself to blame for that one, after what I had done the other day. Leading him on before, maybe hadn't been the wisest thing to do.

''I only asked because I...rather like you,'' he admitted, with a shrug of his shoulders. ''It's lonely out here at sea, and well...a man has needs, as I'm sure you'll understand,''

Was I hearing this? I couldn't quite believe my ears. Mr. Murdoch was pleasant enough; reasonably handsome,_ very_ Scottish, and there was something appealing about his position as First Officer. The dashing uniform might've had a part to play in that, too. Oh, I was probably quite out of my mind chasing after an unobtainable man like Mr. Andrews, when someone like William Murdoch clearly had more than a passing interest in me. But it wasn't that simple; Mr. Andrews was the man with my heart, as well as my mind. I liked Mr. Murdoch, and perhaps he would come in useful in addition to what I was already planning to do. My mind began to whirl with excitement. I gave Mr. Murdoch my best "come hither" look.

''Oh, I understand,'' I replied, batting my eyelashes quite deliberately. ''A woman has needs too, Will. It's a complicated situation with Mr. Andrews. Sometimes he wants me, other times he doesn't. He feels guilty because he's still married, but his wife was unfaithful to him! It's not her that he wants, but he cannot bring himself to divorce her,''

''And if he doesn't play nicely, he may lose you for good. Am I right?'' Mr. Murdoch continued for me, almost as though he'd read my thoughts.

All I could do was look at him glumly, nodding my head with agreement. The First Officer noticed the hurt in my eyes, and he lifted his hand to my face to stroke my cheek.

''I have a lot of respect for Andrews and his work, Miss Monaghan. But it sounds to me, as though he doesn't deserve your romantic admiration.''

I let him touch my face in a way that only Mr. Andrews had done before, and didn't back away.

''Maybe he doesn't, Will,'' I whispered, revelling in the positive attention.

''Perhaps, then...you should show him what he'll be missing,'' Mr. Murdoch suggested, his eyes firmly on mine, ''Perhaps he needs to realise that another man can treat his mistress _better_,''

Now, call me a strumpet if you wish, but I actually liked the sound of this. It was something I'd spent the last few minutes thinking about anyway, and now Mr. Murdoch was alluding to the same idea himself. My goal was to pull out all the stops to make sure I could steal Mr. Andrews away from that careless wife of his. Now I had proposals to fulfill in the process of doing so; one was asking Jack Dawson to grant me a kind favour. And the other...was sleeping with First Officer Murdoch. Yes, _sleeping_ with the First Officer. I knew I had to orchestrate this whole thing very carefully, for it to work well enough. Mr. Andrews had been moderately jealous of my stolen kiss with Mr. Murdoch on the promenade. Surely he would show more than just a smattering of jealousy, if he could see that we were having our own more risque moments together as well? There would be just one way to find out. He was scheduled, as usual, to be showing a touring party around the promenade deck at lunch time. All I had to do was catch him before then, somehow.

''Are you doing anything at about midday, Will?'' I enquired to Mr. Murdoch, as the little cogs turned and turned in my head.

A smile played on the First Officer's lips.

''I'm due at the wheel room very soon, but I'm sure Mr. Moody will cover me for a while when the time comes.''

I reached onto my toes and placed a thankful kiss on his cheek.

''I'll meet you here. Be sure to be prompt, or your, um..._needs_...may not be met.''

Mr. Murdoch couldn't hide his glee at the thought, and rubbed his hands together eagerly.

''Oh, don't you worry lass, I'll be here. Midday it is.''

Without so much as a goodbye, I turned on my heel and continued on my way, to where I'd been heading before bumping into Mr. Murdoch. Well, that was a lucky encounter, to say the least! I was sufficiently pleased with myself at how things were so easily falling into place now. Everything was brewing away in my head quite nicely, and all my plans were for the love of one man, and one man only. Now I had to find the young Dawson lad, to ask him for that kind favour.

**...**

Down on the third class deck, I caught sight of Rose with Jack, milling around quite openly together with the other steerage passengers. Rose resembled a flawless porcelain doll, wearing the most exquisite navy blue velour outfit, nipped in at the waist with a sash made from the purest silk. Her scarlet hair was cascading down her shoulders, and pinned loosely at the back by a comb shaped like a dragonfly. The reason I mention her appearance here is quite simple; she was unlike anyone down there in third class, with her fairytale looks and her elegant clothing. Yet, there she was, mingling happily with the rest of them, without a thought or a care for their social class. I had not seen the likes of it, in all my months serving on the liners. First class passengers would never in a million years intermix with those from the third class. Perhaps this girl really wasn't suited to the socialite way of life after all. I must admit, I was beginning to admire her more each day. Quite a change in heart for me, as only a few days ago I couldn't stand the mere mention of her. Mr. Andrews had seen her special qualities, before I could begin to appreciate them.

Knowing exactly what I had in mind, I made my way over to Jack and Rose, who were both relaxing on a bench with a couple of friends. Jack was smoking a cigarette, his blonde locks hanging in his face carelessly. Rose's sitting posture on the bench was much more carefree than at dinner, where she'd been expected to behave one way only. Being such a stickler for observing people's body language, I always noticed these little things. Actually, it was Rose who caught sight of me first.

''Mimi!" she gasped, obviously surprised to see me down there.

''Good morning, Rose,'' I said with a smile, and I looked to Jack as well. ''Morning, Jack,''

''Nice to see you again, miss,'' he responded, taking the cigarette from his mouth and holding it casually between his thumb and forefinger. There was a sudden hint of mischief in his blue eyes as he then joked, ''Has Cal chased you down here to join the rest of us sewer rats?''

I gave a chuckle, and shook my head.

''He can try all he likes, he can't do anything. No, actually Jack, it's you I've come to see.''

Jack shifted forward on the bench, and glanced quickly at Rose.

''_Me_? Am I... in some sort of trouble with Mr. Andrews or somethin'?''

''Oh, it's nothing like that,'' I assured him, waving my hands dismissively in front of me. ''I remembered the other night at dinner, Jack, when we were talking about your drawings. Rose said you were a fine artist,''

Jack's face immediately lit up at the mention of his art work.

''I like to think I'm pretty good at what I do,'' he perked up. ''I see people, y'know? I observe and interpret everything on paper,''

Rose also became quite animated, still seated next to him.

''Oh, his work is quite something, Mimi. He has such attention to even the smallest details, it's quite incredible."

I nodded my head.

''May I see your work, Jack? I've had an idea about something, and well...you're the only person who comes to mind. I'd like you to help me.''

Jack passed his cigarette to Rose, and reached underneath the bench to grab hold of a battered, brown folder from the floor. He handed the folder over to me, with much enthusiasm evident on his face.

''Have a look, miss. There's quite a collection of stuff in there. I hope you don't mind the, er, content of some of my work. It's all in the name of art, you understand!"

As I opened the folder and began to thumb through the pages, I could see why he'd thought to mention that! These were wonderfully detailed, true to life pencil drawings, and some of his subjects were... well, women, wearing hardly a stitch. Many of them were completely nude and posed in suggestive positions. But his work didn't consist of just those girls. There were sketches of mothers with their children, a man sitting alone in a French cafe, and what appeared to be a well-to-do lady propping up a bar, wearing a lot of jewellery. Jack observed me looking at that one for longer than the others, and stood up from the bench to join me.

''That one there? That's Madame Bijou,'' he eagerly explained by my shoulder, pointing to the woman in the drawing. ''She used to sit at that bar every day, wearing all the finest pieces of jewellery she had. Day and night, she was there, waiting for the man of her dreams to come and sweep her off her feet. I had to draw her. She was too interesting for me to pass up.''

I was impressed. He had a natural eye for seeing the smallest of details and getting them down on paper.

''Your work is very good, Jack. I like these a lot.''

Rose gave a coy giggle and turned to me, her voice dropping to a hushed tone.

''Mimi, I must tell you. I persuaded Jack to draw me last night, like one of those French girls!"

Jack's eyes widened and he shot her a look of disapproval, embarrassed that she'd mentioned such a thing to me. The French girls she'd been referring to were the same ones I'd seen in the pictures - those who had not a stitch of clothing on their exposed frames. There was something that had ceased to surprise me about Rose's new found rebellion. Jack was keen to change the subject as quickly as possible.

''So, miss, what's your verdict? Is there someone you'd like me to draw for you?''

A smile slowly grew across my face, and I looked again at the sketch of the French girl lying draped across someone's bed. Her face was turned to the side, her hair was hanging loosely around her neck, and her top half was exposed. There was something quite sultry about that pose.

''Jack, I need to do something to win back Mr. Andrews,'' I sighed, my eyes flitting from the sketch of the French girl to Jack, and back again. ''I love him and I want him back. I have to make him see he's missing out on being with me. So yes, I'd like you to draw someone for me.''

''Well, I'd have to find Mr. Andrews first, but he's always wanderin' around the ship. I've been told he's a hard man to get a hold of,'' Jack said, his cigarette back in his mouth again. ''How's he going to stay still long enough for me to draw him?''

I shook my head, and pointed to the drawing of the French girl.

''No, not Mr. Andrews. If Rose doesn't mind, I would like you to draw me_... _like, well_... this._''

Jack's face was a picture, and he spat out his cigarette with a start. Knowing there was no point in picking it up from the floor again, he stubbed it out with his shoe and whistled with astonishment at my request, his eyebrow raised.

''Are you sure? I won't be improvising or anything, miss. I need the subject fully prepared in front of me, which means... ''

He gestured with his hand to my clothes.

''I'll be fine with it,'' I said, glancing over at Rose. ''I'll have a brandy before I take anything off. And it'll be purely professional, I can assure you."

Rose didn't seem bothered by my request, actually. She knew I was sentimental about Mr. Andrews, and I suppose she identified with the need to do something like this. After all, it seemed she'd posed for Jack last night in a similar way.

''You really love Mr. Andrews, don't you?'' she sighed, standing up from the bench and touching my arm. ''Well, he needs you back in his life. I saw him this morning, on the way to breakfast. He seemed... _cranky_. I asked him if he was alright and he said no. He wasn't clear, but I get the feeling he has regrets. I don't know what about, and I didn't pry. I hope he can make it up to you, whatever it is.''

What Rose had said to me there, only cemented my thoughts on what I was planning to do to win Mr. Andrews over. Jack took his drawings from me and bundled them back into his folder.

''That's settled, then,'' he said hastily, looking deeper into my eyes to see that I was sure. ''You definitely want me to draw you like this, miss? You don't have to. You can pose fully or partially clothed. It's your call,''

I shook my head, chewing on my bottom lip a tad nervously at the thought of taking my clothes off in the name of art. But my mind was made up.

''It's fine, Jack. I want you to draw me like that girl in the picture. I_ need_ to do this.''

Rose gasped, her eyes large and her face overcome with exuberance. ''I'll help you! I'll help with your hair and your make up. Oh my, this is so exciting. I'm desperate for Mr. Andrews to appreciate what you do for him, Mimi. Yes, I think you really need to do this. And I have something which you could wear for the picture. I asked Jack to draw me, wearing a jewel Cal gave me. You can borrow it when you pose for Jack.''

I had no idea what she was talking about, and although she was not wearing anything around her neck now, she still gestured with her fingertips to where the item had been last night.

''Le Couer de La Mer,'' she explained. ''It's a necklace, Mimi. Very heavy, very _expensive_! A blue diamond. Cal's engagement present to me, actually.''

_Ouch!_ I thought to myself. _That's one in the face for Caledon Hockley..._

''I'll be keeping it for prosperity, but I have no real desire to wear it. If you'd like to use it while sitting for Jack, then you're very welcome to,'' she continued, smiling warmly._  
_

I looked into her eyes. This young lady had the most thrilling ideas, but I'd been so harsh on her not even two days ago. I did feel a pang of guilt about that.

''Let's do this,'' I breathed nervously, a mixture of exhiliration and nerves overcoming me.

Rose squealed excitedly, and grabbed me by the hand, pulling me forward.

''We'd better do it now, before you overthink it and change your mind!''

Jack plucked a spare cigarette from behind his ear and tucked his art folder under his arm, walking a little behind us.

''Where we goin', miss? You'll need privacy.''

My heart was pounding at the realisation that a twenty year old lad I hardly knew would be drawing me, minus clothing of any kind. I was happy to have Rose coming along with me for moral support, though maybe she was also planning on keeping a close eye on Jack too.

''The best place will be my cabin,'' I called over my shoulder to him, as Rose pratically dragged me down the corridor. ''There will be no interruptions there, I'm sure,''

And so, off we went, to carry out the second half of my elaborate plan: making Mr. Andrews see sense. I don't know what had come over me that morning, but I was gaining confidence in playing these immature games to win him back. I just hoped he'd appreciate all the effort I was going to, all for him. Having Jack sketch me in the nude, and then doing my best to render him jealous by being intimate with another man; well, these seemed like genius things to do at the time. Whether or not they would have the desired effect, remained to be seen. I'd turned into quite the cunning, conniving young woman onboard this ship, and there was only one man to blame for my unusual change in personality...


	16. In The Name Of Art

**Author's Note:** Mimi's modelling pose in this chapter - for Jack's drawing - was inspired by a famous real life photograph of a woman called Christine Keeler (posed naked, over a backwards-facing chair).

Thanks for all the responses/reviews etc!

* * *

_**Chapter 16 - In The Name Of Art**_

_April 14th 1912 _

_10:30 am_

With Rose still pulling me along excitedly, and Jack tagging behind, I led the way to my living quarters on the staff deck. I didn't have time to stop and think about this unconventional idea of the young man drawing me in the nude. As Rose had rightly said, if I'd given myself the chance to ponder it over, I wouldn't go through with it. So, I knew this was something I had to do; a moment of madness. A _pre-conceived_ moment of madness, which was an irony in itself.

With Caledon Hockley and Mrs. DeWitt Bukater otherwise engaged with activities in first class, Rose took the chance to dash to her stateroom for the necklace she'd been talking about. The Heart Of The Ocean, or whatever she referred to it as, was the piece I'd be wearing whilst posing for Jack Dawson. I was not looking forward to taking my clothes off, you must understand. Not even Mr. Andrews had seen me in a complete state of undress! But the thought of presenting him with the finished product on paper, was very alluring. How could a red blooded man's passion fail to be ignited by erotic art, depicting his mistress in the nude?

Fumbling with my key in the door lock, I hoped that no-one else would be aware of what I was allowing for myself. I'd be shunned and labelled a prostitute. As it was, I'd already behaved like a prostitute several nights before, insisting that Mr. Andrews paid me for my body. Perhaps, though, I was behaving more like a lady of the night than I was ready to admit. Things were quite different in those days; anything remotely sexualising a woman was viewed upon as vulgar, and sexually liberated women were branded filthy whores.

With my room now unlocked, I hurried Jack in and closed the door, my nerves all over the place. Jack took a look around, scanning the simplicity of the cabin for ideas.

''Now, this all depends on what you want to convey to Mr. Andrews,'' he said, very professionally. ''If you'd like me to draw you on the bed, then it's your choice. Or maybe standing up? I dunno, miss, but you gotta let me know what you want. If you're telling him your engagement is back on, then maybe go for something a little suggestive. If you just want the guy back in your _bed_, well...titilation is the way to do it. Your call, miss,''

I sank into the couch, thinking quietly as I began to unlace my ankle boots. Mindlessly, my eyes focused on Jack as he opened his art folder on top of the vanity unit, taking out his various artist's materials. I had to remind myself again, that the French girl in the picture I'd seen was likely to have been a prostitute, and was used to removing her clothing for strange men. Me, well, I was not. A bottle of brandy on my nightstand had been barely touched since leaving Belfast, and now was a good time to down a glass or two of the stuff. I would need the Dutch courage just to get past the stripping off stage, let alone anything else.

Rose returned to the room, with a black velvet presentation box in her hand. Smiling, she offered it to me.

''The Heart Of The Ocean,'' she said, as I flipped open the top of the box and gasped with astonishment. The necklace was large and heavy, and the centrepiece was an extravagant, glittering blue diamond. I had never seen anything like it before.

''I-I can't wear this,'' I stammered, taken aback by the beauty and expense of the item.

''Nonsense,'' Rose replied softly, removing the necklace from the box and allowing it to catch the light in her hand. ''Cal made me wear it to lunch yesterday, but it's not to my taste. Mr. Andrews saw it, and thought it was beautiful. He would recognise it in an instant, from a drawing. Two bewitching objects together, on paper. But one is far more precious than the other!''

I knew that she wasn't talking about the necklace. Yes, I really had been so judgemental of her in the days prior to this.

Jack cleared his throat deliberately, to get my attention.

''So, uh, we need to move things on a little here,'' he said, finishing up sharpening his pencils with his craft knife. ''Let's decide what we're doin', now,''

The brandy was kicking in, thankfully; I knew I had to start removing items of clothing, in the name of art. With my face burning, I cast off every piece of fabric I'd been wearing. Rose stood in front of me, shielding my modesty. I was nervous - of course I was! But I reminded myself why I was going through with this, and that in itself was enough of a reason.

Like a clucky mother hen, Rose fussed over me, attending to my hair and my make up. She did a decent job of sprucing me to as much perfection as could be achieved, with someone like me. After doing so, she placed The Heart Of The Ocean around my neck, and fastened it at the back. I studied myself in my tarnished old hand mirror, and for once, smiled at my appearance. I looked...well, quite pretty, I suppose. The necklace was definitely an elegant touch.

''Um...can I pose suggestively, without revealing _everything_?'' I coyly asked Jack.

His hands were poised with pencil and paper, unbothered at the sight of my naked form.

''Sure. It's now or never, miss,'' he said, shrugging his shoulders.

''Alright,'' I murmured, and decided to use the chair in front of the vanity unit as a prop. ''I'd like to sit on this,''

Jack nodded, his brow furrowing with concentration.

''Right. Now how about you turn the chair around, so it's facing backwards.''

I did as I was asked, and awaited his next instruction.

''Take a seat. I know it's the wrong way round, but that's the point. I need you to straddle the chair.''

Again I did as he said, and sat on the chair, which was still positioned the wrong way. This all felt quite strange, to say the least. My legs were straddled and positioned apart, with my knees bent and my toes on the floor. My bare front was pressed into the backrest, covering my ample modesty for now.

''Okay, now lift your chin, so I can see the necklace,'' Jack then ordered, ''And I need to see more of your uh, your..._chest_...there too. Put your hands to your thighs. Keep your eyes on me, but don't smile! This is all about looking seductive, okay?''

I did everything I was told to do, and inhaled a deep breath as Jack began to sketch my naked form, half hiding behind a back-to-front chair. Rose was watching Jack more than me, quiet but clearly fascinated by the experience of seeing art in progress. After a few moments, I'd found myself beginning to relax more. It wasn't so bad after all, and I must admit, it was strangely rather liberating. I was modelling with no clothes on, straddling a chair, with two people I didn't know well watching me! The old Mimi would never have done such a thing. But this new, feistier Mimi had emerged as the _Titanic_ continued her voyage to New York. I liked this new version a hundred times better.

**...**

It hadn't taken too long before Jack was putting the finishing touches to the sketch. I'd been modelling for about ten minutes, I should think. He was a fast worker, but thorough, something that had been obvious from all the intricate drawings I'd seen. I was glad when he told me I could dress again; as liberating as it may have been, I was a whole lot more comfortable with my clothes on! Rose watched him over his shoulder, as he erased a few minor smudges and signed the bottom of the drawing with his name and the date.

''That's wonderful, Jack,'' she told him with a smile, before looking at me. ''Mimi, you'll like this. It conveys really well on paper,''

I carefully unfastened the expensive necklace from around my neck, and placed it back in its box, taking one last lingering look at the jewel before closing over the lid. Handing it back to Rose, I nervously waited for Jack to unveil my portrait. Wiping charcoal dust from his hands, he picked up the piece of paper and offered it to me.

''Well, I hope it's to your liking, miss!"

I was still nervous as I took the drawing from him. But I needn't have been; I saw my likeness staring back at me, in such an interesting manner! There I was, posed seductively on the back of a chair, with my plentiful assets close to being on full display, and the mysterious blue diamond around my neck. There was no mistaking that the girl in the sketch was me. Mr. Andrews would know exactly who the subject was, without having to be told. A mischievous smile had spread across my face.

''I love it,'' I said, nodding my head and holding the drawing close to my chest, ''I can't believe how much it looks like me! It's amazing. Thank you for doing this for me,''

Jack began to gather up all his art materials and put them back into his satchel.

''You're welcome, miss. I hope it works out for you and Mr. Andrews. Well, we_ both_ do. Right, Rose?''

Rose smiled and headed with him towards the door of the cabin.

''Of course," she agreed, ''Mr. Andrews is a wonderful man, Mimi. You're clearly made for each other. Grab the chance of happiness, with both hands. Cal and I...well...I'm not staying with Cal. He cannot make me. My mother cannot make me! I've decided to go to New York with Jack. It's not Cal or his money I want. This life makes me so _unhappy_. Mimi, promise me you'll do your best to grab happiness with both hands! You, and Mr. Andrews. I think he needs you more than he knows...''

She was absolutely right. There was something rather profound in everything she had said. I wasn't even surprised that she'd decided to shun the life of first class snobbery, in favour of being free with this penniless young man she'd fallen for. It seemed almost crazy for someone of her means, but at the same time, it made complete sense to me. Her determination to do something which was against the norm, only validated my feelings towards my personal dilemma even more. As Rose had said, I needed to grab the chance of happiness with both hands. I had a lot less to lose than _she_ did, after all.

Once Jack and Rose had left my cabin, I hurriedly scribbled out my own note to Mr. Andrews.

_My dear Thomas,_

_This is for you. _

_Two bewitching objects together, on paper. One is more precious than the other. _

_Happiness lies in your own hands. Please make your choice, before it's too late...  
_

_Yours, _

_Mimi  
_

Yes, I'd remembered everything Rose had said, and written it down in my message to him. Why not? Her words had been perfect for this situation. I slipped both the drawing and my handwritten note inside a large envelope, marked it _Thomas Andrews_ on the front, and made my way to his private quarters. I hadn't planned on confronting him there and then, so I pushed the envelope underneath his door and scurried off again. He'd probably been in his room, but my preference was to do things mysteriously this time.

On my way back to my cabin, I caught sight of the ship's carpenter, a man whose name I didn't know. I _did_ know, however, that he often worked with Mr. Andrews to amend faults in the ship's interior. I stopped him in passing, and knew exactly what I was going to do next.

''Sir, would you mind telling Mr. Andrews to come and view a problem with William Murdoch's cabin?'' I asked the man, a saccharine tone to my voice.

Smiling politely, the carpenter nodded his head.

''Of course, miss. Is there anything_ I_ can help with?''

I gestured dismissively with my hands.

''I don't think so, sir. William asked for Mr. Andrews by name. I get the feeling it's quite urgent, but William won't be on his lunch interval until midday,''

Again, the carpenter nodded his head.

''I'll make sure Mr. Andrews visits the cabin before he begins his tour of the boat deck this afternoon,''

I was a scheming little so-and-so...

''Thank you, sir. I'm just passing on the message."

Another nod and a smile from the carpenter, and we were both on our way again. Of course, there were no emergency repairs for Mr. Andrews to see to. And William Murdoch had not asked for Mr. Andrews to check his cabin over! It was just a ploy, for me to get Mr. Andrews to visit Murdoch - at the same time that I would be there. And hopefully, this would serve as a reminder to Mr. Andrews, exactly why he shouldn't play around with my heart and my mind. The man had to make choices, as I'd pointed out in my note accompanying the drawing. If seeing me in an intimate state with another man didn't rouse any anger or jealousy from him, then I would know for sure that my time and my thoughts were wasted on him. I only hoped for the response I'd wanted. With half an hour to go, I would find out soon enough.


	17. A Scotsman And An Irishman

_**Author's Note:** _Being Scottish myself, I mean no disrespect to Scottish men - OR the real William Murdoch - in this chapter (see further A/N at the end). For the sake of this story, Murdoch is unmarried.

Contains some Scottish-style dialect, which may or may not be easy for everyone to read. Apologies in advance if it's confusing.

Also: a couple of times in this chapter, Mimi deliberately talks about herself in the 3rd person.

**Features scenes of a sexually suggestive/forceful nature.**

Thanks to all reviewers/readers.

* * *

_**Chapter 17: A Scotsman And An Irishman  
**_

_**14th April, 1912**_

**12: 00pm**

I arrived at William Murdoch's door at what must've been exactly midday. My heart was racing at the thought of my devious little arrangement! I tried to justify my actions, by telling myself I was within my rights to behave this way. I believed that I was, after all. After peering down the lobby to check that I hadn't been seen, I inhaled deeply. Goodness, I was definitely nervous. I smoothed out the front of my skirt with a brush of my hands, and pushed my bosom out for added effect. Giving myself a moment's pause, I then tapped on Murdoch's door. He answered almost immediately, still dressed in full naval uniform. He'd clearly just come from the wheelroom.

''Miss Monaghan,'' he said politely, his face brightening, ''I wasn't sure if you'd be brave enough to come. But here you are!''

I nodded, forcing my sweetest smile.

''Yes Will. Here I am.''

Murdoch opened the door wider and extended his arm, gesturing towards the inside of his cabin.

''Would you like to come in, lass?''

Keeping the smile on my face, I didn't reply, but I did totter rather quickly into his room.

_I hope I haven't been seen! What am I doing? I can't be right in the head..._

Murdoch closed the door behind me and, well...he didn't exactly waste any time! Grinning like some sort of madman, he didn't utter another word as he grabbed my hand. He pulled me in close to his body, causing me to gasp with surprise. Then he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and tilted me back in dramatic fashion. My eyes were wide at his eagerness, which was most over the top and melodramatic. My goodness, was the man that desperate? I'd known Murdoch, in passing, for nearly as long as I'd known Mr. Andrews. We were acquaintances who'd said hello to each other now and then, while working for White Star Line. Murdoch had been the kind of man to have a girl in every port, so to speak. The ladies fell for his mischievous Scottish charm.

He looked into my eyes with his penetrating, glassy blue stare. I must admit, his aroma was rather pleasant. His chosen cologne was different to that of Mr. Andrews, but just as fragrant.

''Well, Miss Monaghan,'' he flirted, a husky tone to his voice, ''I'll show you the difference between an Irishman and a Scotsman...''

I was strangely interested in finding out what the 'difference' was. Goodness, these would just be sexual relations, after all. A one-off dalliance, without strings attached. I didn't love him; I didn't even know him all that well. I loved Mr. Andrews, and that was why I was taking part in this madness. I smiled, and flirted straight back.

''I might allow you to. Is it true what they say, Will? I've heard all about Scottish men and their lack of...undergarments...beneath their traditional Scottish attire.''

Murdoch gave a hearty chuckle at my brazen comment.

''Oh, you're a feisty wee lassie, aren't you? By any chance, have you ever seen what's under a Scotsman's kilt?''

I was bloody good at firing out suggestive one-liners, so I couldn't resist another one!

''Well, it can't be _too _different to what any other man has, William.''

Murdoch was clearly enjoying the teasing banter, and he tightened his grip on my shoulders.

''Like I said, Miss Monaghan, I'm willing to show you why Scotsmen are different.''

Again, I shot an amorous quip back at him.

''Stop talking then, William. And start showing...''

Well, I did ask for it. He pressed his mouth against mine, hungrily. It wasn't bad, but I'd been so used to Mr. Andrews and his softer approach. I reciprocated, as I knew I had to. Murdoch took that to mean he could be as dominant as he liked, and slipped his tongue in my mouth quite forcefully. I wasn't so sure about that move, but again, I knew I had to go along with it. His officer's cap slowly inched off his head until it fell and landed behind him on the floor. He kicked it away with a swift foot, and tightened his grip on me. Then he broke his mouth away from mine, already panting after one brief minute's kiss.

''Y'ready for a real man, lassie?'' he growled.

I said nothing, which wasn't usual for me.

''Aye,'' he continued, taking my lack of response as a confirmation. ''You need some traditional Scottish oats in you,''

_Oh for goodness' sake, William! Enough of the ridiculous cliches. Just get on with it!_

Murdoch tugged me by the hand towards his bed, and before I could do or say anything, he pushed me back onto the mattress.

''That'll do just fine,'' he said, eyeing me up and down hungrily. ''I'm sure you'll enjoy this, so you just lie on that bed like a good wee girl, eh?''

_A good wee girl?_

With a degree of uncertainty, I laid there obediently as he began to unbutton his uniform jacket. He tossed it to the floor and wasted no time in clambering on top of me. Murdoch's dominance was a little on the unsettling side, as I wasn't used to a man behaving like that. I was used to the sweet affections of Mr. Andrews. His touch was lighter, and he was not sexually aggressive in the least. Murdoch was much more forthright, as I was finding out. He lowered himself forward, steadying his weight on one arm, and kissed my lips. Again, this wasn't too bad. I did my best to kiss him back, but he took that as consent for him to be more domineering. His weight became heavier on top of me, and his free hand roamed all over my body without my permission. His touch was far from gentle; he was pawing at me. There was definitely an animalistic quality to his behaviour. This wasn't how I'd imagined it would be, and I began to squirm uneasily beneath him.

''William, please,'' I gasped, though not with pleasure. ''You're too rough!"

He fixed me a stare with those icy blue eyes of his, and shook his head.

''Don't be daft, woman,'' he dismissed, ''The Irishman wasn't man enough for ya. It's time for a Scot to show you how _we _please our women,''

He took one of my arms and pinned it to my side. His weight was bearing down on me, and he was too strong for me to fight against. He savagely kissed my face and my neck, giving me little chance to breathe. His stubble scraped across the delicate skin of my chin and my cheeks.

''Will, that's enough!" I said, more forcefully than before.

He took no notice. Again, I began to squirm with discomfort beneath him.

''Please, Will. Be more gentle!"

He began to rub his crotch area against me in a suggestive manner.

''Gentle? That's the last thing you need!'' he laughed, as though my pleas were of no big deal.

I shook my head quickly, my curls splaying all over the pillow.

''But you're being so rough...''

''Stop frettin', lassie. I did tell ya, the Scots do their women differently to the Irish! I don't know why you're surprised.''

Trying again, I wriggled my body underneath him, but it was of no use. I'd changed my mind. If he wasn't going to respect my wishes and my feelings, I wouldn't partake in this any more.

''Please Will, just let me leave now. This isn't working. We can pretend this didn't happen.''

He kept a firm grip on my right arm.

''What? But why? Come on now, Miss Monaghan. I have needs!''

''I understand that,'' I tried to reason. ''But you're refusing listen to me,''

''Oh, I'm listening, alright!'' he shot back angrily, still hovering over me. ''All you've done is give me earache. You haven't stopped your bloody whining since you laid on this bed!"

I sunk my head back further into the pillow. Maybe he was right? I had been whining at him, rather a lot. I just wasn't used to being manhandled this way. He wasn't a tender man, sexually speaking. But I had agreed to sleep with him, and I couldn't back out now. It wouldn't be fair on him, and well...wasn't the real point of the exercise to make Mr. Andrews jealous?

''I'm sorry, Will,'' I sighed, defeatedly. ''You should carry on,''

Murdoch rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and ran his fingers through the front of his short, dark hair.

''You women, you're all the same," he grumbled, ''You'll enjoy it. Now, let's move along. My lunch hour does'nae last forever, ya know,''

Using his free hand, he began to unbutton the top of his trousers. As he did so, he added casually, ''Though you do realise, Miss Monaghan, that I might've done this anyway,''

Feeling apprehensive, and now with confusion thrown into the mix, I queried him.

''What's - what's _that_ supposed to mean?''

All the buttons on his trousers had now been unfastened, but I didn't look down. I didn't want to. He began tugging my dress over my thighs.

''It means,'' he said, a smirk across his face, ''I might well have had intimate relations with you, regardless of your whining,''

My eyes widened to the size of saucers. Was he telling me that he could've...? Had he no morals? Even entertaining the _thought _of violating a woman? Surely not. I'd assumed, without question, that such degrading behaviour was beyond him. I couldn't believe what he was heavily implying. Perhaps he wasn't being serious.

''Will!" I gasped nervously, aware that he was readying himself, ''Tell me you wouldn't do that...''

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, which startled Murdoch. It had to be Mr. Andrews - it couldn't have been anyone else.

_Oh God, Thomas! Oh thank God, you're here._

''Mr. Murdoch, are you there?'' his voice rang out.

Murdoch froze on top of me.

''Shit!" he hissed, through gritted teeth, ''What the hell is he doing here? Keep quiet. He mustn't know!''

Knowing I was there had been all part of my plan, but now things had taken a more sinister twist. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Murdoch was scaring me.

''Thomas!" I called out, completely ignoring Murdoch's order.

He angrily clamped his hand over my mouth, glaring at me.

''Ya stupid woman, what are you playing at?"

''Mr. Murdoch! What's going on in there?'' Mr. Andrews shouted from behind the door.

''Keep quiet, miss,'' Murdoch warned me, ''The last thing we need is his wrath.''

Again, Mr. Andrews rapped on the door.

''Is there someone else in there? Mr. Murdoch?''

My chest rose and fell quickly with panic, as I laid there with much of Mr. Murdoch's weight on top of me. His hand was still over my mouth, silencing me.

''He'll leave if we stay quiet,'' Murdoch breathed in my face, his cold blue eyes fixed on the door across the room.

But I didn't want Mr. Andrews to leave. I wanted him to rescue me, before things got much too out of hand. Without any warning, he opened the door and hurried halfway into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him, and his trusty black notebook slipped through his fingers, dropping to the floor.

''What the-?''

His body seemed to freeze midstep, and his jaw fell open. There was his mistress, lying on her back on First Officer Murdoch's bed. Her dress was halfway up her thighs, her stockings were exposed, her hair was a mess, and the First Officer was on top of her with his hand covering her mouth. Mr. Andrews' mistress was now a fully fledged strumpet.

''Ah, Mr. Andrews,'' Murdoch said sheepishly, releasing his hand from my mouth. ''This is an..._unexpected_...visit,''

Mr. Andrews didn't take his eyes off us. His notebook was still on the floor where it had dropped from his grip.

''Clearly," he muttered, having inhaled just about enough breath to speak. ''Mimi, what the _hell _is going on?''

I'd rarely heard him use that word before. To say 'hell' was uncouth and vulgar in Mr. Andrews' eyes. It took a lot of anger, in order for him to utter such a word.

Stupidly, I blurted out the first thing that came to my head.

''Thomas, I can explain!''

Mr. Andrews' face became contorted with confusion. He lifted his hand to his forehead and rubbed his temple, uneasily.

''Are you alright? Did he...?''

I interrupted him, almost defensively.

''No, he didn't hurt me.''

Murdoch sighed and casually climbed off of me, buttoning up his trousers in the process.

''I'm sorry you had to find out this way, sir,'' he said calmly, standing to his feet.

Mr. Andrews looked at me, then to Murdoch, and back at me again. Murdoch picked up his uniform jacket from the floor and casually slipped it on over his shoulders. Looking worried, Mr. Andrews' eyes continued to flit back and forth between me and the First Officer.

''Find out what?''

''Oh, come on now, Mr. Andrews. You're an intelligent man,'' Murdoch responded as he fastened up his jacket.

My sweetheart appeared to be working himself up into a lather, and rightly so.

''Mimi, tell me you didn't!''

''I didn't,'' I whispered truthfully, sitting up and scrambling off the bed. ''I promise you, Thomas...''

''Well, we _would've_ done, if we hadn't been caught. Eh, miss?'' Murdoch quipped, firing me a devilish smile and a wink.

Was it all one big laugh to him? Perhaps this was just the way he'd treated any lady he desired to have his wicked way with. Not so charming now, to say the very least. Mr. Andrews glowered in his direction, his hands briefly tensing into fists by his sides.

''What on earth were you thinking, sunshine? Have you no shame?''

''Ah, now!'' Murdoch chuckled, placing his officer's cap back on his head again. ''Calm down, Mr. Andrews. She's your mistress, not your wife,"

Mr. Andrews growled, uncharacteristically, and lunged forward at the man. I grabbed the sleeve of his blazer to haul him back, though I had little physical strength to make much difference. Murdoch was only a couple of inches shorter than Mr. Andrews, but Mr. Andrews had a broader build and used it to his advantage. He loomed over Murdoch with wild eyes.

''This isn't the William Murdoch I know,'' he spat in the man's face. ''I don't know what's come over you, but I'll thank you to keep your hands off this young lady!"

Murdoch snorted back a laugh, another smirk growing over his lips.

''Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, Mr. Andrews,'' he began, his tone quite petulant. ''but Miss Monaghan here is not a married woman. And I'm not a married man, as you know. We're free to do as we please. Why d'you think she came to me, sir? You've messed this lassie around. She's fed up of hearing about your wife! So, sir - your wee mistress sought attention from a real man. One without a bloody wife still at home."

I'd expected a volcanic reaction to follow, and I braced myself for it, slinking back sheepishly. But Mr. Andrews didn't erupt. Instead, his face crumpled, and he looked beaten. It was as though he'd been jabbed in the heart by each stinging word Murdoch had taunted him with. Of course, I could see he was still angry. But it seemed that the penny had finally dropped. And it'd taken William Murdoch, of all people, to deliver those hometruths. Oh, my dear Mr. Andrews...

''I'm, er,'' he stammered, narrowing his eyes and rubbing his nose, ''I'm sorry to have interrupted your time together.''

Flustered, he turned on his heel and picked up his notebook from the floor, dusting off the cover with his hand. I noticed that his face had flushed to a ruddy pink colour, probably out of embarrassment. My goodness, the poor man. He was not the one who should've been embarrassed. My behaviour had been completely shameful.

He cleared his throat and deliberately kept his eyes on the leather cover of his book.

''Maybe, Mr. Murdoch, under the present circumstances...you should contact the maintenance officer instead.''

Murodoch looked to me and raised an eyebrow, quizzically.

''Why would I need to do that?''

_Oh, goodness! The non-existent problem with the cabin - my lies to the carpenter._

To save my own skin, I quickly interjected.

''I think there's been a misunderstanding. William doesn't need the maintenance officer.''

Mr. Andrews frowned, his confusion obvious.

''But, I received a message -''

''It was a _misunderstanding_,'' I reiterated firmly.

Murdoch watched me with suspicion for a moment, then turned to Mr. Andrews.

''I don't know what's going on here, but I think you'd better leave my quarters now, sir.''

Still unable to meet Murdoch's eye, Mr. Andrews complied and headed towards the doorway. I darted after him, panic rising in my throat.

''Wait! Let me come with you.''

He shook his head slowly. I noted the pained expression in his eyes; I could tell he was hurt. It was my own stupid fault, behaving like a desperate tart.

''No Mimi, you clearly have unfinished..._business_...with Mr. Murdoch here.''

I grabbed his hand in mine, but he just yanked it away again.

''Thomas?''

Gesturing over to Murdoch, he seemed completely dejected by what had happened in those past few minutes.

''I think the First Officer is better suited to you than I am, Mimi. I should've known something like this would happen.''

And he somberly left the cabin, without another word. I was ashamed, and wished that the ground would swallow me up.

Murdoch, back in full naval uniform again, casually strolled over to me. His arms were folded over his chest, and his eyebrows were raised high on his forehead.

''Well, well...'' he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he drew out the words. ''Feelin' a wee bit affronted now, Miss Monaghan?''

''Ack, away with ye, William,'' I grunted, feeling my own anger burning inside.

I hated myself for this stupid stunt I'd just pulled. It had backfired in ways I hadn't even imagined. I'd only intended on making Mr. Andrews jealous, but I had not intended on pushing him away completely. I'd been a fool. An idiotic, pathetic fool. Murdoch took my hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing it gently. Since when did Murdoch ever do such things gently? He was clearly trying to win me over again. Not a chance. I whipped my hand out of his and turned my back to him, thoroughly ashamed of myself.

''Come come, sweetheart!'' he chirped, grinning wildly, ''Even the Irishman himself thinks I'm better suited to you!''

I whirled around again, my eyes wide and starting to fill with tears.

''Well, he's wrong!" I barked, ''He's so bloody_ wrong_,"

Murdoch adjusted the peak of his cap and glanced over at the clock on his bedside cabinet, mentally noting the time.

''I beg to differ.'' he said bluntly, ''He's the married man, remember. You don't want to be playing third fiddle now, do you?''

''Third fiddle?'' I scoffed, assuming he was confused with his phrasing. ''You mean, second. Not that it's any of your flaming business!''

''Nah, I mean what I say. You're third fiddle to his wifey in Ireland, and this bloody ship. You think you're important to him? Ha! He never even _mentions_ you. You're just a quick screw in a linen cupboard, lassie."

''Shut your filthy mouth, William!" I snapped at him, offended at his crude language and general lack of tact. I realised though, that his cutting words were probably the truth.

''I have to eat now, Miss Monaghan,'' he continued, matter-of-factly, ''We've wasted enough time and I'm due back on my watch in half an hour. I'll give you space, to think this over,''

''There's nothing to think over," I gasped, my hands defensively grabbing at my hair. ''You were always going to be just a fling, Will!"

Wiping away a tear from my reddened face, I opened the door and stormed out of the cabin. My legs took me just a few steps down the lobby before I stopped to catch my breath. Murdoch appeared in his doorway, shaking his head with disapproval.

''Aye, that's right, Miss Monaghan!'' he hollered after me, ''Run back to the man who'll stay with his unfaithful wife. You do that, ya wee hussy!"

Oh, he was right - I was a hussy. A disgusting little tramp, so desperate for the man she loved to love her back. Flirting with an officer, being very close to _sleeping_ with that officer; pushing away the love of her life in the process. What a classy lady she was turning out to be. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Mr. Andrews did not deserve that from me.

The fact was, being a maid on the _Titanic_ wasn't good for my emotional wellbeing. I was surrounded daily by lust; sex-starved officers of all ranks, who spent weeks out at sea without a woman's touch. Most damagingly for me though, was that I'd become obsessed with the ship's architect, a married father whose babies I wanted to bear. I decided then, that it would make sense to leave White Star Line once this voyage was over. I had to break free of the cycle, and of this mental rollercoaster.

What I hadn't realised, was that I'd need to find other employment anyway. _Titanic_ would soon deteroriate. The next time I'd lay eyes on William Murdoch would be during the frantic aftermath of the iceberg collision; the same iceberg collision which would cost him, Mr. Andrews and thousands of others, their mortality.

* * *

_**ADDITIONAL A/N: To clear up any misconceptions about this chapter - **_We don't know for sure if Will intends to force Mimi, or if he's just using clumsy/inappropriate scare tactics to convince her to sleep with him. His wording isn't definite, and the ambiguous angle is deliberate. It is_ not_ an intended slight on the real man, or Ewan Stewart's portrayal. I leave Will's intentions open to the reader. Interpret it whichever way you wish to.


	18. The Place To Rest My Head

_**Author's Note:  
**_

_The theme here is** 'Never Let Me Go',** by **Florence and The Machine** (a popular Titanic song choice, I've noticed.) There are a few lyrics from the song included in this chapter, including the title. __Thanks as always, to readers and reviewers.**  
**_

* * *

_**Chapter 18: The Place To Rest My Head  
**_

I didn't see Mr. Andrews again that afternoon, but I hadn't expected to. He'd been scheduled to show another party of first class passengers around the upper deck, but I'd overheard whispers from the kitchen staff that he'd 'called it off'. One of the cooks said he'd complained of a migraine. Whether he genuinely had a migraine or just wasn't in the mood to face anyone, I didn't really know. But one thing was certain - his current state of mind was down to one person. _Me_. Of course, I wasn't going to admit to the other staff what I'd done. Never in a million years! I was thoroughly ashamed of how I'd upset him. I'd rather degraded myself, too. William Murdoch's sexual dominance had unnerved me; that experience was something of an eye opener. Who knows what might've happened, if Mr. Andrews hadn't intruded when he did. My whole plan had backfired on me, and I wasn't the only one paying the price for my stupidity. I'd humiliated the man I loved.

I was due to start a late afternoon shift at three o'clock, but my mood was sombre. How was I supposed to smile sweetly at those carefree second class women, when my mind was so preoccupied? There was nothing else I could bring myself to think about, other than Mr. Andrews. His wellbeing was all that mattered to me. Goodness, I couldn't forget the look of shock on his face when he entered William Murdoch's cabin; nor could I forget the hurt in his eyes when Murdoch spoke all those spiteful words. Seeing him, so downtrodden, had broken my heart. Maybe I'd broken his, by being with Murdoch. I hadn't meant to hurt him; only to make him jealous. Perhaps I'd misunderestimated his feelings for me. Perhaps he did care about me, in ways that he couldn't show me. I'd always understood his dilemma, with him being a married man. There were expectations. His wedding vows meant something to him, and a he had a young child to think of. The part I'd never understood, was that he'd intended to stay married to his unfathful wife. Theirs was not a happy marriage. But he could be happy, if he let himself. _With me_. Oh, maybe I was deluded, or reading into things that weren't actually there. It wouldn't have been the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last. Sex was sex, and a few stolen fumbles didn't equate love. Murdoch had been incredibly crude about this when he'd gloated about it in his cabin, but he did have a point. Naturally, I'd believed it wouldn't be long until the ship was to dock in New York, and I needed to know for definite what was going on in Mr. Andrews' mind.

_I'll speak to him tonight. I'll tell him why I was with Murdoch. I should admit to everything. If we can't salvage anything from this mess, then we must go our separate ways after New York. It'd be the right thing to do. Wouldn't it?...  
_

I made my way from my cabin to the linen cupboard, as I always did, to stock up on my daily batch of towels for the guest rooms. I hadn't thought anything much of it at the time, but I overheard snippets of an awkward conversation between Mr. Ismay and Captain Smith. As hard as I tried, I didn't catch their words; but they were clearly aggrivated with one another. Mind you, they'd always seemed to be that way. It was interesting to note that, as I'd passed them by in the corridor, their voices had lowered and Ismay appeared somewhat sheepish. They were aware of my eavesdropping, and while Captain Smith nodded his head politely at me in passing, Ismay's eyes did not make contact with mine. I could never exactly put my finger on it, but that man had always seemed like a shifty character. Mr. Andrews tolerated him only because he had to, which didn't surprise me. I had to watch my tongue, being an employee of White Star Line. I'd barely had any contact with Ismay before this voyage on the _Titanic_. He may've been the White Star chairman, but on this crossing he was travelling as a guest. Still, we'd all felt obligated to obey his requests.

_Yes, Mr. Ismay. No, Mr. Ismay. Three bags full, Mr. Ismay._

Not any more, though. I'd decided, while robotically dispensing yet more towels into yet more guest rooms, that this was the end of the line for me and White Star Line. I'd had enough of the drama at sea. Being around Mr. Andrews and the officers had caused too many problems in my life, and I'd made a decision. This was it, for me. My plan was to leave maid service on the boats and return to a static life, on dry land. To do what, though? I didn't know. My head told me that I should find a nice, uncomplicated man to settle down with. Have lots of children, and be happy! But my heart told me something else. Uncomplicated men just didn't seem to interest me. If only I could convince Mr. Andrews to leave his wife and set up home with me, somewhere far away from all of this. New York, perhaps. That would be as good a place as any, seeing as we were docking there. Oh, the possibilities. I just had to make him see sense first, which would be easier said than done. The rest of my seven hour shift that evening was occupied by my planning on what to say to him...and thinking that if I had to beg on my knees for his forgiveness, then I would just have to do that.

* * *

_10:40 pm_

I didn't bother to change out of my maid uniform at the end of my shift. I'd just headed straight over there, to Mr. Andrews' private quarters. No-one had seen him at all for the rest of the day, and the other staff certainly believed he was in bed with a migraine. I believed differently, though. They hadn't known what I'd done to humiliate him.

With my stomach churning over and over, I knocked on his door. There was no response, so I tried the doorknob to check that the room was unlocked. It was, and I quietly let myself in. I closed the door silently behind me and stood there, timidly clasping my hands. Just as I'd thought, Mr. Andrews was not ill in bed. He was seated across the room at his desk, his back to me, poring over yet more diagrams. He'd been concentrating hard; his blazer was off and his shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows. I could see a glass of port in his hand, and his usual trusty black notebook was open in front of him. Writing implements littered his workspace. Aside from the usual low rumble of the ship's engines, there was complete silence in the room.

After what seemed like an eternity, I cleared my throat to speak.

''_Thomas_?''

He didn't look round. He'd already known I was there, before I'd even opened my mouth. I heard him sigh heavily, before answering in a monotonous tone.

''I have nothing to say to you.''

Well, I'd predicted a response like that.

''I need you to hear me out, Thomas,'' I whispered, stepping forward from the doorway.

''I don't need to hear anything,'' he said firmly, still seated with his back to me. ''Our time together is over, Miss Monaghan,''

_Please don't say that...  
_

I knew he'd be angry with me, but it still hurt. My hands began to tremble, and I hurried across the room to his desk.

''All I want is for you to listen, Thomas.''

He thumped the desk with his fist, startling me. The force of his rage had sent his writing implements scattering to the floor.

''I won't hear any more nonsense from you! And it's _Mr. Andrews_, young lady. Show some respect.''

_Oh, no. Please don't do this, Thomas..._

My breath caught in my throat, and my face crushed with shame. He wouldn't even look at me. His eyes were firmly fixed on those damned diagrams spread over the desk. As I swallowed hard, something drew my attention from the corner of my eye. There was a familiar sight, half crumpled and sticking out of the waste paper basket on the floor, beneath the desk. Frowning, I turned my head and squinted for a closer look. My heartbeat thudded as I realised what he'd discarded._  
_

It was the drawing I'd slipped under his door earlier - _my_ drawing.

With wide eyes, I leapt forward and pulled the scrunched up piece of parchment from the waste basket, straightening it out again with my hands.

''Why did you do_ this_?'' I gasped, doing my best to limit any damage to the picture.

''I should ask you the same thing!" he snapped back, his nose crinkling with revulsion.

Tears began to well in my eyes, as I placed the drawing on his desk and smoothed it out, over and over again.

''I needed to get your attention,'' I whispered defensively, ''This is Jack's _work_, Thomas!"

Mr. Andrews wasted no time in telling me what he thought.

''Oh yes, I know whose work it is! Rose asked me if I liked the drawing. I had no idea what she was talking about! Until I got to my room and found -''

He gestured his hand to the crumpled artwork on his desk.

_''- this!"  
_

His eyes came to meet mine, but there was no empathy there. All I could see in his face was disgust._  
_

I traced the creases in the picture with my fingers. Poor Jack's work, now trashed.

''I don't understand, Thomas. I posed like this for _you_. I thought you'd appreciate it!''

''Appreciate it?'' he scoffed, ''What in heaven's name made you think that, you silly girl? Jack Dawson draws from life. You took your clothes off in front of him, and you posed like a cheap whore!''

_Please don't call me that. I'm not a whore, Thomas..._

His eyes were blazing. He hadn't finished with me yet, not by a long shot._  
_

''You're a devious, manipulative little tramp!''_  
_

I broke down and slid to my knees onto the floor, desperate sobs catching in my throat.

''Oh, yes. Turning on the tears, as always," he taunted me, shaking his head. ''You'll do anything to get your own way, lady!"

I hugged my arms around my knees, and wept into my stiffly starched apron.

''That's not true!" I cried, lifting my head for a moment before crying into my apron again.

''My dear, you made an absolute fool out of me!" Mr. Andrews shot back, ''You set me up to find you with William Murdoch. I know you told the carpenter some nonsense about William's cabin. I know _everything._ You stupid, stupid girl!"

He rose quickly from his chair, the glass of port still in his hand, and stormed to the other side of the room. Listening to my muffled wailing, his voice lowered a couple of octaves.

''I can't even bear to _look_ at you, Miss Monaghan.''

I scrambled to my feet, wiping my tear stained face with my sleeve, and dashed over to him. I was absolutely desperate.

''I know I've let you down, but I wanted to get your attention," I explained, between my sobs, ''I had to make you jealous. I needed you to want me_._ I didn't sleep with Will! I kissed him. We didn't do anything more,''

''But you would've done!" Mr. Andrews sneered at me, before downing the last of his port.

He growled and suddenly threw the empty glass at the wall, which startled me. I think his reaction had even startled himself; the glass shattered and fell to the floor. His chest heaved as he panted, fuming with anger. He balled his left hand into a fist and thumped the palm of his other hand. He was trembling with fury; I'd never witnessed him behaving so aggressively before. This was all my fault. What had I done?

''Well, Miss Monaghan, you got what you wanted,'' he murmured, his tone of voice much calmer than his exterior. ''I admit it. I'm jealous! I cannot get the vision of you with him, out of my head. William Murdoch, on top of you! Do you think walking in on that _wouldn't_ affect me, Miss Monaghan? Oh it did, believe me. I still see you, with him, in my mind! Leaning over you with his trousers undone...your dress around your waist! Just about to-''

He didn't finish his sentence. Instead, he dissolved into tears. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Only a moment ago, he was becoming aggressive and angry. Now, he was actually crying. The only other time I had seen him so emotional, was when he'd talked about his little daughter. And presently, tears were beginning to flow down his face, over _me_. Seeing him like this, set me off again too. I collapsed against him, burying my head into his waistcoat, and wept my heart out. I felt him wrap his arms around me, and he hugged me to his body, tightly.

_And the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me. Never let me go, Thomas...  
_

''William was right, Mimi,'' he breathed, his voice quivering,_ ''_Everything he said was right. Why didn't I see it sooner? I know why you went to him. Seeing you with him_,_ Mimi. It hurt me. But now I know how much I've hurt _you_. It's my fault you resorted to this. I've been talking a lot about my wife. I've been insensitive and I should've known better_. _I should never have called you a tramp! I'm sorry I've been such an idiot,''

Still holding me close, his fingers toyed with stray curls that had fallen from the bun in my hair. Was this really happening? I'd honestly thought he'd hated me, with every fibre of his being. He didn't. He really didn't. Gracious, I was so relieved! This was what I'd wanted; _he_ was what I'd wanted. He was coming round.

''I'll do it, Mimi,'' he whispered, slowly swaying me back and forth in his arms. ''I'll do what you want me to do,''

He paused to catch his breath, after sobbing so hard.

''I'll communicate through a barrister, and advise my wife that we should divorce.''

_What on earth? Am I hearing things?_

I pulled myself back from his arms for a moment, wiping the tears from my face with my hand._  
_

''Do you...? Do you_ mean_ that?'' I gasped, unable to comprehend the speed at which he'd changed his mind._  
_

Mr. Andrews nodded, and hauled me back into his chest again. His grasp on me was strong and protective.

''We'll do whatever ye want, my dear. We don't have to stay in Belfast. In fact, we probably shouldn't. Perhaps I should transfer to a shipyard elsewhere.''

_I'm definitely hearing things. Or maybe I'm in the middle of a dream? I must be asleep. Wake up, Mimi..._

''What?'' I gasped again, this time with a giggle of shock escaping my lips. ''Are you quite serious, Thomas? Divorcing your wife_ and_ leaving Harland and Wolff? It hasn't been long since you took over your uncle's position. You can't leave!''_  
_

''I could transfer to another yard. I'm not saying it'll be easy. My working life has been there, and my uncle's always looked out for me,'' Mr Andrews sighed, still winding strands of my hair around his fingers. "Maybe he'll understand my dilemma. He knows I've been miserable since my wife left. I'll tell him why I cannot stay in Belfast. I'll always be grateful to him for what he's done for me, Mimi.''

I nodded my head in agreement, and closed my eyes contentedly, snuggling my face back into his waistcoat. Looking back, I realise how selfish I was, assuming he would leave the Harland and Wolff company for me. His life works were achieved there. What had I been thinking? I should've encouraged him to stay at his place of pride, but I'm sure he wasn't even thinking straight himself, at the time. Had he survived _Titanic_, I couldn't imagine him ever leaving Harland and Wolff.

With my face still buried in his chest, I inhaled his wonderful aroma through my nose. His cologne, mixed with his natural masculine scent, turned my knees weak. _Heavenly._ Goodness, I was still overwhelmed at everything we had been through together over the last half hour. I'd gone from being desperate and upset, to being completely over the moon, all in the space of thirty minutes. It had been a rollercoaster ride of emotions for me and for him.

"Why did you change your mind, Thomas?" I asked, feeling somewhat timid again.

He breathed a long sigh before answering. "Well... I realised, didn't I? Seeing you with William Murdoch, and hearing his words. I can't bear the thought of you with another man. I need you with _me, _Mimi Monaghan_._ It feels right_. _We're good together._"_

_Oh, goodness, yes we are. If this is a dream, it should never end! Maybe I don't need to leave White Star now? Life can be good, Mimi.  
_

''I like the drawing, you know,'' he suddenly admitted. ''I suppose it quite shocked me at first, but I understand why you did it. The necklace you're wearing in the picture. Is that the...?''

''The Heart Of The Ocean, yes,'' I finished for him. ''Rose let me borrow it. Just to wear for the sitting, mind,''

''Yes, I rather thought so. Two precious objects in the picture. One _is_ more precious than the other,'' he said, softly. Then he perked up, when he realised, ''Wait, now. You called her _Rose_?''

I frowned and shrugged my shoulders.

''I did.''

He paused for a moment.

''But whatever happened to_ Miss DeWitt Bukater_?''

I smiled up at him.

''I don't need to call her that any more, do I? I've realised she's not a threat. I was imagining things. And, well...I suppose I _quite_ like her.''

Mr. Andrews chuckled at my startling admission.

''Good gracious, Mimi. I never thought I'd see the day where you liked Rose!"

I gave him a playful tap on his arm, and stepped backwards to look at him.

''Stranger things have happened." Then I decided to bite the bullet and approach an awkward question that was on my mind. "Thomas... may I ask you something?''

He looked attentive.

''Of course ye can.''

I pushed the toe of my boot into the rug on the floor, and twisted my foot around coyly.

''Well, if you'll be seeking a divorce from Mrs. Andrews...does this mean...?''

''It means I'll be buying you a ring when we dock in New York," he chirped proudly, taking my hand and twirling me around in a pirhouette.

I laughed, and caught my balance again.

''Goodness, Thomas. You're quite merry now! Must be that port ye've had, eh?''

He slapped his forehead and looked over to the floor, where the shards of his smashed glass remained.

''Ah, I should tidy that up before you hurt yourself, Mimi."

I grabbed his hands in mine, and gave him a lingering look.

''Never mind that right now.''

I could see from his eyes, that he knew exactly what I was thinking. I led him over to his king-sized bed across the room, which was elegantly adorned with satin cushions and white Egyptian bed linen. We tumbled down together on top of the pristine covers, and the cushions scattered to the floor. In no time, we were both free of our clothing and were nestled beneath the sheets. We kissed and writhed around feverishly, getting carried away with desire like there was no tomorrow. Neither of us knew then, that for Mr. Andrews, there _would_ be no tomorrow.

After we'd been intimate together, we laid there for a while in each other's arms. The only thing to cover our modesty had been those crisp, clean bed sheets. It was all so perfect, and there was little more I could've asked for at that moment. Finally, I had him. He was mine. And it went without saying, that I was his. My mind, my body, and my soul; they all belonged to Thomas Andrews. _Titanic_ was his, and now I was his.

I snuggled my head into his bare chest, sighing contendedly at the warmth of his skin against my cheek. His breathing was deep, and my head rose and fell with his rhythm. His heartbeat was hypnotising to listen to. I gazed up at him, and saw that his eyes were closed.

''Thomas?''

He didn't answer. A smile crossed my lips, and I placed my head back on his chest again. He was asleep. I can say, with my hand on my heart, that this was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. It was everything I'd ever wanted; everything I'd ever dreamed of. He'd finally given himself to me, and it had taken William Murdoch's cutting remarks to push him in right the direction. As ridiculous as it sounded, I decided I would thank Murdoch tomorrow for unwittingly playing Cupid. I'd never had him down as the "cherubic" type; far from it. But his intervention that afternoon had certainly done the trick, and Mr. Andrews could admit to everything he'd felt about me. I had the result I'd longed for.

_Thank you, William! Oh, I could almost kiss you right now!  
_

My own eyes started to droop, and I found myself feeling drowsier and drowsier. Mr. Andrews stirred a little, then went back to sleep. After a moment, he began to snore. It wasn't loud, but it was something I wasn't used to: a sleeping man, snoring. It was rather amusing! I probably snored myself, actually. Anyway, I reasoned that it would be a safe bet to stay the night with him. It was late, and we were both worn out. In those days, it was very much frowned upon to stay the night with a man. And in the same bed, well, that was something only a woman with very loose morals would do! But I wasn't one of those; Mr. Andrews had realised that now. It wouldn't harm anyone for me to drift off to sleep with him, in his bed. Just the once; just for that night. It would be our little secret.

The bed was comfortable, but for some reason, I was finding it difficult to get to sleep. I wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the flow of adrenaline that was keeping me awake. I tossed and turned, hoping that I wouldn't awaken Mr. Andrews. Thankfully, the man was in a deep slumber. Gently, so as not to disturb him, I slipped out of the bed to get myself a glass of water from the washroom. I was as naked as the day I was born, but I didn't even care. I felt free.

As I tiptoed over to the washroom, I became aware of something quite unsettling. There was an audible groaning sound from the floor beneath my feet, and I heard a gentle tinkling noise coming from above my head. I looked up, and saw that the chandelier on the ceiling was swaying. Not a lot, but enough for me to notice the movement.

_What on earth...?_

My eyes switched below the chandelier, to Mr. Andrews' desk, which was still messy with charts and diagrams and other clutter. The green Tiffany lamp on the desktop was shaking. I then looked quickly around me - the whole_ room_ appeared to be shaking. My heart began to pound. I took a nervous breath inwards, and hurried back to the bed. No sooner than I did, the shuddering had stopped and the room returned to normal again. _  
_

_What was that? Maybe they've lost a propeller blade or something._

Forgetting about my glass of water, I anxiously slipped into bed again, next to Mr. Andrews. He was still asleep, and completely oblivious to whatever had caused the tremor. It was then that I heard something very strange, which I'd never heard before on this voyage. None of us had. It was the sound of silence_. _The consistent low hum of the ship's engines had ceased, and the familiar vibration in the floor had gone. This could only have meant one thing: the engines must have stopped. _  
_

My eyes were huge now, probably the size of saucers. I didn't have a clue what was going on, and Mr. Andrews had been asleep the whole time.

''What's happening, damnit?'' I whispered to myself, again scanning the room for anything shaking or moving. But there was nothing.

I couldn't find an answer for what had happened. I could hear now, outside Mr. Andrews' quarters, that other people had felt a shuddering too. There were confused voices and frantic footsteps passing by, just outside of the door. Well, judging by that, I certainly hadn't imagined anything, and the engines had indeed ceased. I needed some sort of rational explanation for the confusion, and I knew what I had to do next - I had to rouse a tired Mr. Andrews. He was the man for this sort of thing. He would know what was going on, and I was convinced he would put my mind at ease. It would surely be nothing much to worry about.


	19. A Mathematical Certainty

Some lines from the James Cameron film are included towards the end of this chapter.

* * *

_**Chapter 19: A Mathematical Certainty**_

**11:55 pm**

Pulling the bedcovers up around my naked form, I drew a nervous breath and shook Mr. Andrews gently by the shoulder. He stirred a little, but nothing more. He was difficult to waken! I shook him again, this time more firmly.

''Thomas?''

Refusing to open his eyes, he grumbled and pulled the bedcovers further over his chest.

''_Thomas_!" I shouted, seeing him flinch at my raised voice. At least it did the trick. He lifted his head from the pillow and rubbed his eyes, squinting as he tried to focus on me.

''Sorry, Mimi. I didn't mean to fall asleep.''

''Never mind that,'' I said, scanning the room for any more unusual activity. ''Something's happened!''

Still attempting to focus his tired eyes on me, he frowned and propped himself up onto his elbows.

''My dear, are you alright?''

Before I could even answer, his attention turned to the hubbub outside the door in the corridor.

''What's all the commotion about out there?''

''That's what I'm trying to tell you,'' I sighed. ''There was some short of shuddering and now the engines have stopped. You slept through it and-''

I didn't finish, as he shushed me silent with a quick motion of his hand. He turned his ear to the middle of the room, listening out for the absence of the engine noise. After a moment, he sat forward and pensively ran his fingers across his chin.

''Why could that be?''

''It'll all be alright though, won't it?'' I said, fishing for something positive. ''It can't be anything too serious,''

He swallowed a lump in his throat and blinked, pausing for a second or two before answering me.

''I'm-I'm not sure, dear. I should go t-''

He was interrupted by a sudden banging on the door, startling us both.

''Andrews, the Captain needs you on the bridge!'' the voice of the ship's carpenter called out.

The man didn't even wait for a response before he swung open the cabin door. I squeaked and pulled the sheets up around my neck, hiding every part of bare flesh aside from my face. How embarrassing! The carpenter's expression was priceless as he saw the two of us, clearly in the altogether, under the covers of Mr. Andrews' bed.

''I, er, I do apologise,'' he spluttered, hurrying forward and closing the door behind him. ''But it's rather an emergency,''

Mr. Andrews brushed his fingers through his hair and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

''I'll be with you in just a moment, Hutchinson. Can't you see I have company? For God's sake, man!''

The carpenter glanced at me, a flush sweeping over his face, then looked back at Mr. Andrews.

''Sorry, sir. The Captain has ordered your presence immediately.''

Mr. Andrews continued to scowl, clearly unimpressed that our privacy had been invaded.

''And I'll be over to the bridge as soon as possible. You can't just barge into my quarters, Hutchinson!"

The carpenter averted his eyes from us and nodded his head sheepishly before leaving the room. I heaved a sigh of relief when he'd gone, but Mr. Andrews thought nothing more of the interruption and darted straight out of bed. I watched him, my confusion mounting, as he hurriedly began to dress himself. With an air of calm, I repeated the carpenter's words.

''It's an emergency.''

Mr. Andrews kept his eyes fixed on the wall, hastily pulling on his trousers and fastening the buttons.

''Get yerself dressed dear, you can't stay here.''

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I could tell by the way he was reacting, and the urgency from the carpenter, that this was much more serious than I'd thought. Fully dressed within two minutes, he then headed across the room to snatch his heavy black overcoat from a chair.

''Get dressed, Mimi!" he ordered me again, pulling on the coat and dashing over to his desk. He moved Jack's drawing to one side and rolled up the set of blueprints that had been spread over his desk top, shoving them under his arm. Rushing to the doorway, he muttered to himself and gave a glance in my direction. He reached under his coat into his waistcoat and removed his pocket watch, flipping it open. Quickly, he observed the time before closing the watch over again and stuffing it back under his coat. He raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed his temple, clearly agitated.

''_Hurry_ yerself! You're a White Star employee first and my mistress second. You have a duty, so put yer clothes on.''

Well, how was I to know he'd wanted me to assist him? I couldn't read his bloody mind. Ship's employee first and his mistress second, indeed. How charming! I knew I shouldn't take it too personally; he was clearly anxious about the seriousness of these engine difficulties. I wasn't going to argue with him while he was in that sort of mood. Still hiding my modesty with carefully placed sheets, I obeyed him and picked up my clothing from the floor. I threw everything on quickly and didn't even stop to lace up my boots, pushing the laces down the insides to keep them from trailing on the ground.

''Put on a _coat_, woman," Mr. Andrews sighed with exasperation, gesturing his head towards the coat stand. I grabbed the nearest garment to hand, which was his day jacket, and slipped it on over my shoulders. It was at least three sizes too big for me and the sleeves were drooping off my arms, but it was better than nothing! I hurried over to him and followed him out of the door; he was already marching down the lobby like an army officer.

''Keep up!" he called out to me, not even looking over his shoulder as I dawdled behind.

I noticed the Countess Of Rothes standing in the hallway, looking confused as a steward assured her that nothing was amiss. Mr. Andrews barely saw them and certainly didn't acknowledge the Countess, breezing past her and the steward in his hurry. I was still lagging behind; Mr. Andrews had the benefit of a long stride to carry him along. I couldn't keep his pace, not with my shorter legs and my untied boots slipping up and down over my ankles.

Bewildered passengers lined the corridors of A Deck, talking amongst themselves. Many were still dressed in their nightwear; others had just come back from the dining saloon and the leisure rooms. They all knew of Mr. Andrews, and they watched with wide eyes as he passed them by, blueprints under his arm. The fact that I was rushing after him, still wearing my maid's uniform, seemed to concern them even more. The ship's designer speeding down the corridor, carrying his blueprints and with a maid in tow, was not a good sign in their eyes.

I caught sight of Mr. Ismay coming out of his stateroom, his brow tensed with confusion. He was dressed in pyjamas, and was knotting the belt of his nightrobe as he closed his door. I also noted that he was still wearing his slippers. Perhaps his refusal to dress in day attire was confirmation that things weren't quite so serious. Ismay hadn't seen us, and Mr. Andrews clearly hadn't even noticed him as we headed out into the chilly atmosphere of the outer deck. And goodness, it was cold out there. Bloody cold! Our breaths could be seen as white wisps in the air in front of us. No wonder Mr. Andrews had ordered me to wear a coat.

We climbed down the metal staircase leading to the bridge; he was so fraught with worry that he'd gripped the banister and launched himself from the top step to the bottom. His coat swished out behind him, and his feet had barely even touched the stairs. He disappeared from my view, and I slowed down as I looked all around me. Surprisingly, Jack and Rose were out on deck at this time of night, along with a few other passengers who'd come out to see what had happened. My eyes narrowed as I saw a couple of men kicking a large transparent object across the wood panelled floor of the deck. I realised immediately what it was they were playing with - a thick chunk of ice. I then noticed that all around our feet were more pieces of ice. Some were small shards, others were substantially sized boulders of the stuff. Goodness! I couldn't believe my eyes, though certain things were starting to make more sense to me now. _Ice_. Captain Smith had received several iceberg warnings. Could it have been that the ship had clipped the side of one of the 'bergs? I didn't even get a chance to ask Mr. Andrews. He'd raced far ahead in front of me, without having noticed Jack and Rose nearby. That was unusual, as he'd nearly always stopped to chat with young Rose.

Jack saw me walking slowly across the deck through pieces of ice on the ground, inspecting my surroudings nervously. He pulled Rose by the hand along with him towards me, and I noticed that she was wearing a flimsy chiffon dress. Not exactly the sort of attire for being outside in the cold! They must've come out on deck to look at the damage, like others had done.

''Mimi!" she gasped, her eyes widening as she looked at me. ''Did you see it?''

I shook my head and pulled Mr. Andrews' jacket tighter over my shoulders. A stark, freezing wind whistled around us.

''I was inside with Thomas. What happened?''

Jack gestured his hands out wide to illustrate his point.

''The biggest goddamn iceberg I've ever seen," he answered, arms extended. Strands of blonde hair fell into his eyes and he flicked his head to the side. ''Shit, Mimi, it hit the side. I was out here with Rose. We saw everything."

Well, I was right! An iceberg strike had been the source of the unexpected shuddering and the subsequent engine failure. But what on earth did that mean? Was the damage minimal, or was there something to be more concerned about? Of course, I didn't know. Most people didn't know yet.

Rose touched my arm gently. ''Mimi, Mr. Andrews knows this ship inside and out. Will everything be alright?''

''I'm not sure,'' I replied honestly. ''Thomas was asleep when it happened. It was me who felt the shaking in the room. I, erm... I had to wake him up."

She gave an all-knowing smile, realising that Mr. Andrews and I had been together that evening.

''I'm happy you've made up with him!'' she said, then turned to Jack by her side. ''Well, maybe this is nothing to worry about. But we should tell Mother and Cal. Come on, Jack, we'd best go indoors."

Jack acknowledged me with a nod of his head as they went back inside, hand-in-hand together. Now I had to try and find Mr. Andrews again, and I had a good idea about where he could be. Watching my footing so that I didn't slip, I sprinted down the deck to the bridge and into the chartroom. I slowed down when I saw William Murdoch standing near the doorway, looking incredibly apprehensive. I carefully squeezed past the man I'd nearly slept with, still managing to brush against him as I did so. He gave me a cursory glance, but I needn't have worried. There were obviously more important things on his mind than our encounter earlier. His face was pale and he was sweating profusely, and I was later to learn that he'd been in charge of steering the ship when the iceberg hit.

Ismay and Captain Smith were also in the room, and Mr. Andrews was already reeling off a complicated explanation. I hadn't caught all of what he'd been saying; he'd started before I'd got there. His blueprints were rolled all the way along the Captain's desk and he was pointing to various diagrams as he spoke. He was clearly agitated and his voice was loud.

"... as she goes down by the head, the water will spill over the tops of the bulkheads, from one to the next. Back and back. There's no stopping it!"

The Captain interjected.

"But what about the pumps?"

Mr. Andrews shook his head. "The pumps buy you time, but minutes only."

He paused to take in a breath, and swallowed hard. His eyes darted over to me by the doorway next to Murdoch, then back to the diagram on the desk again. Composing himself after a second, he finished with a frightening statement.

"From this moment on, no matter what we do... _Titanic _will founder."

My heart began to pound at the realisation of what he'd said. I couldn't have been alone; the others in the room were all as stunned as I was. Or at least, they seemed to be. Ismay was the only one shaking his head, as though he disbelieved the very notion.

''But this ship can't sink!" he scoffed, throwing a petulant stare in Mr. Andrews' direction.

Mr. Andrews turned his head over his shoulder to stare right back at him. If looks could kill, Ismay would've been a dead man there and then.

''She's made of iron, sir!'' he snapped, clearly agitated by Ismay's arrogance. ''I assure you she can, and she will. It is a mathematical certainty.''

The Captain slumped back and nervously drew his hand across his whitened beard. He looked to Mr. Andrews by his side.

''How much time?''

Again, Mr. Andrews swallowed hard. Even from where I was standing, I could see perspiration trickling down his face.

''An hour. Two at most.''

_What in the name of...? Surely he can't be serious?_

As my mind said those words, my arms froze with the chill of goosebumps spreading across my body. What Mr. Andrews had told us, was everything that I hadn't wanted to hear. I hadn't thought that this situation was quite so desperate. _Titanic_ was the unsinkable ship, after all. How could a clip with an iceberg have such an effect on something so grand? This was madness. Mr. Andrews, and his colleagues back in Belfast, had built us a strong ship._ As near to perfect as human brains can make her_, he'd told me. Surely she could take a little knock or two?

Ismay's face was quite something to behold, I can tell you. His jaw had dropped to the floor and his eyes were wide with shock. Mr. Andrews had finally put him in his place with a very stern check on his assumptions. The Captain, on the other hand, looked defeated and worn down. He turned to Murdoch, who was still by the door next to me.

"And how many are aboard, Mr. Murdoch?"

William lowered his head and gulped hard, his eyes terrified and welling with tears. For the first time, I felt some pity for the man.

''Two thousand, two hundred souls onboard, sir.'' he replied quietly.

The Captain nodded, taking a moment to reflect. Then he glared at Ismay, his anger beginning to rise once again.

''Well, I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay!" he spat, his nostrils flaring.

He turned his back to Ismay, unable to look at the man any more. Managing Director of the White Star Line or not, Ismay had clearly outstayed his welcome in the chartroom. Hitting the iceberg had not been his doing, but the Captain had caved in to his pressure of lighting the last boilers for speed. Waving his hand in the air dismissively, the Captain sighed. "Just get out of my sight and do something useful, Bruce. Go on."

Ismay looked to his feet and shuffled away, muttering expletives under his breath. With my heart pounding ten to the dozen, I took that moment to dash across the room to Mr. Andrews. He was still standing by the Captain's desk with his blueprints, scanning those diagrams for probably the hundredth time. I grabbed his arm and whirled him around to face me, searching his tired brown eyes.

"Thomas? Are you_ sure_ about this?"

Ignoring my question, he lifted his hand to my cheek and swept away a few tendrils of unruly hair.

"We'll-we'll need your assistance with evacuating the passengers," he began, his voice quivering. "You should put on a lifebelt and show them a good example, Mimi. I want you to cover your rooms, on B Deck. This situation... is incredibly serious."

A strong wealth of emotions was building up inside me. I knew full well that there weren't enough lifeboats for more than two thousand people. How would we be able to evacuate all passengers and crew without enough bloody boats? Of course, the answer to that was sadly obvious - we wouldn't. Mr. Andrews kissed my forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment, before he gave me another order. This time, his voice was almost a whisper.

"Go to your cabin and put on more layers, dear. I don't want you catching a chill outside. Then you must help evacuate B Deck. Assist the passengers with their lifebelts and tell them to leave their belongings, but _don't_ say the ship will sink. Not yet. We don't want to cause hysteria. Tell them to dress warmly. Coats and hats. Do you understand what you need to do?"

I nodded quickly.

"Of course, Thomas."

He gestured his head towards the doorway, pulling out his pocket watch from his waistcoat and checking the time.

"You'd better get started, dear. The clock is ticking."

I did as I was told and went to leave the room, but before I did, I stopped to ask him something important. Something that was important to me.

''Thomas, I just need to know. Will you be getting onto a lifeboat, once you've helped with the evacuation?''

The expression on his face softened.

''It'll be women and children first, Mimi. Standard protocol, and that's how it should be.''

''I know,'' I replied, ''but after that. When they load the men on. You'll be on a boat, won't you?''

He averted his eyes from mine, returned his pocket watch to his waistcoat, and looked down again at the blueprints.

''Yes, Mimi. Of course I will.''

I acknowledged his answer with a trace of a smile, though of course there was nothing to smile about under the circumstances. Giving him one last look, I left the chartroom and sprinted back outside. I didn't even know if I'd see him again, but I knew I had a job to do, and one of utmost importance. My legs carried me as fast as they could, across the boat deck and back inside again. I felt a steady rush of adrenaline as my heart raced with fear - I couldn't believe everything I'd just heard. It was beyond comprehension; surreal, like something out of a far-fetched disaster novel. It'd been a chunk of ice, for goodness' sake! How could it have done so much damage to the ship? I had difficulty in getting my head around everything. If Mr. Andrews' calculations were correct, there would be no more _Titanic_ in just two hours time. Two hours, equalling one hundred and twenty minutes. It would all be down there at the bottom of the Atlantic, and so would half of the people onboard. It had been a long time since I'd been a practising Catholic, but I'd begun to realise that only the Almighty could save us now.


	20. A Hopeless Devotion

**Author's Note**:

The first half of this chapter is loosely inspired by real-life _Titanic_ stewardess Violet Jessop's account of evacuating passengers during the sinking.

* * *

_**Chapter 20: A Hopeless Devotion   
**_

**_April 15th, 12:20 am_  
**

I headed back to my room, trying to keep as calm as possible under the circumstances. I still couldn't fully understand what was going on; it seemed ridiculous that _Titanic _was going to sink! But there was no reason to disbelieve Mr. Andrews. Most of the people I'd seen - passengers and staff - were still calm. There was confusion, more than anything else. All crew members were now debriefed, but they were warned to keep the guests' level of panic to a minimum. This would soon turn out to be impossible, as you can imagine.

Back in my cabin, I followed Mr. Andrews' advice of dressing for the bitter weather outside. Removing the man's jacket that was three sizes too big for me, I then pulled on more layers of clothing, including a shawl and an overcoat. Of course, I made sure to lace up my boots this time. I grabbed some small valuable items from my bedside cabinet, put them into my coat pocket, and found the lifebelt situated on top of the wardrobe. I'd never given lifebelts much thought before now. I slipped the safety garment on over my head and knotted the ends around my waist; it was the first time I'd worn one of these, and it was bulky and uncomfortable. For bouyancy, cork had been inserted inside these garments, which gave them a chunky effect. Tutting to myself about how irritating the lifebelt was, I switched off the light and closed the door behind me. This would be the last time I'd ever see my little cabin onboard the _Titanic_.

I did exactly as Mr. Andrews had instructed and took myself up to B Deck, where the second class suites were. I was used to being there every day, doing my usual housekeeping chores, but this was something very different. I'd never had to evacuate anyone before, so I went with my instincts to try to keep as much calm as possible. I began knocking on doors, starting at the bottom of the corridor, calling out as I went from room to room.

''Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain requires you all to dress warmly and put on your lifebelts,'' I shouted loudly. ''Vacate your suites and come to the outer deck. Leave your belongings!''

Occupants in various stages of bewilderment opened their doors and stared blankly at me. Mrs. Bell, one of my regulars, took one look at me all trussed up in my coat and lifebelt. She shook her head disapprovingly at being disturbed.

''This is ludicrous,'' she scoffed, clad in a nightdress and slippers. ''Do you know what time it is, young lady?''

''Yes ma'am,'' I said firmly, marching past her into her suite and whipping out a lifebelt from inside of the wardrobe. ''I'm under strict instructions from the Captain and Mr. Andrews. There are engine problems, so we're evacuating all the rooms as a precaution.''

I handed her the lifebelt and she snatched it from me, scoffing again and muttering under her breath. Not even a thank you! What a sour-faced old battleaxe she was. I didn't have time to argue with her, but I made sure she knew how to secure the lifebelt before moving on to the remaining suites. Thankfully, the other second class passengers didn't throw my assistance back in my face the way that Mrs. Bell had done. There was always one!

...

**_12:50 am_  
**

Wondering what my next job would be, I made a dash through various corridors to find Mr. Andrews. If I couldn't find him, any senior crew member would've sufficed at that moment. I'd just wanted to help the best I could with the evacuation, before heading to a lifeboat myself. But it wasn't Mr. Andrews I saw first; it was William Murdoch, looking flustered and heading in the opposite direction to me. I knew that under the circumstances, we had to put our differences aside and concentrate on getting the passengers out of the ship. Brushing our awkward sexual encounter under the carpet, I caught his attention and stopped him in the lobby.

''I've assisted with evacuating B Deck,'' I explained, keeping my voice formal. ''What else I should do?''

Murdoch shifted his eyes from me to the floor, and back again. He pulled his overcoat around his frame, nervously fidgeting with the gold coloured buttons on the front.

''Here's what you need to do,'' he said, his voice faltering a little. ''Get yourself to a boat. _Now_.''

I sighed and shook my head at him. I hadn't planned on getting on any boat yet. It just seemed too early.

''I'll only do that when I've done all I can to help. Tell me what else I can do.''

He moved closer to me, and instinctively, I took a step back. But I needn't have worried. There was pain evident in his eyes; guilt, remorse, shame. Whatever you want to call it. He wasn't the arrogant bastard he'd been when he'd pinned me down on his bed.

''Just get on that lifeboat, Miss Monaghan.''

Again, I shook my head.

''Not yet. Only when I've-''

''You've already assisted on B Deck,'' he interrupted me. ''You realise the_ Carpathia_ could take four hours to get here? Four hours! It'll be too late for many. Just save yourself now. Get on a lifeboat!''

Well, I was confused. Why did he suddenly care anything about me after what he'd done? But he seemed to know what I was thinking, even though the words hadn't actually escaped from my mouth.

''I behaved dreadfully with you this morning,'' he continued in a lower voice, making sure he held eye contact with me. ''My actions were inappropriate. I'm sorry.''

I'm sure my jaw just about hit the floor. Had my ears deceived me? William Murdoch _apologising_ for his behaviour towards me? The cynic in me wondered if his newfound sorrow was only because the ship was sinking. Surely he'd still be his usual arrogant self otherwise.

''You're sorry now?'' I huffed defensively, turning my back to him and folding my arms.

A couple of passengers hurried by us in the lobby, and Murdoch waited until they were out of earshot before answering me.

''I'm not proud of myself, y'know.'' He paused for a moment, his eyes searching my face. ''I'm not proud of _anything_ I've done today, lass. Look, I'd never forgive myself if I didn't try to make my peace with you.''

This was a bolt out of the blue, but at least he'd had the guts to admit his wrongdoings. And I knew he hadn't just been referring to our encounter, but to his failed steering of the ship. I didn't really know what to say. All I could do was purse my lips and nod my head; a gesture of accepting his apology and his confession. He touched my shoulder, and I didn't flinch away from him this time.

''I apologise, Miss Monaghan. For _everything_.''

I didn't know where to look, but the easiest way of avoiding his eyes was to avert my own gaze to the floor. It was an awkward moment. Murdoch said not another word and continued on his way again, leaving me standing there with my eyebrows raised. It must've taken two or three seconds for me to regain my composure, snapping myself out of my thoughts and remembering that we were in the middle of an emergency. Murdoch hadn't given me any instructions on what else I'd needed to do, except of course for getting myself to a lifeboat. But that wasn't an option right now. I was staff, and I had to assist more before even thinking of getting to a boat.

_I must find Thomas..._

We'd been away from each other for half an hour by now, which I'd felt most uncomfortable with. I was clock watching everywhere I could; every room I'd been in and every clock I'd seen, I had mentally noted the minutes that were passing. It was vital, under the circumstances. I hadn't panicked too much, at first. Now realising that it was nearly one o'clock in the morning, my anxiety was heightening by the second. I walked speedily to the outer deck to look for Mr. Andrews; I felt insecure and afraid that I wouldn't find him again before the inevitable happened. Imagine my relief as I saw him out there on the promenade, wearing a lifebelt himself and organising members of staff to assist him. I bounded over to him, my ears finding it difficult to cope with the screechy whistling of the funnels above us. I could see that everything out on deck was starting to tilt at a strange angle.

''Thomas!" I bawled over the racket of the funnels, covering my ears with my hands. ''I've evacuated B Deck like you asked me to."

He nodded his head and seemed to be dealing with the noise a little better than I was.

''Good lass. Now you're here, I need your help with this!"

He gestured to the wooden deckchairs lined across the promenade.

''Let's get these chairs out. You grab one end, I'll grab the other.''

Two stewards were already doing as he'd instructed; hauling deckchairs across to the railings and literally throwing them overboard into the water below. I quickly realised that the deckchairs were being used as makeshift buoyancy rafts. Without enough lifeboats, many people would end up in the water. At least some of them could stand a chance of being picked up by rescuers - if there was something substantial for them to hold on to. Deckchairs were the largest objects out there on the deck. Well, it was worth a shot.

Mr. Andrews grabbed the head rest of one deckchair and I grabbed the foot rest, and we dragged the wooden seat over to the railing. It took the two of us to lift the thing up, and Mr. Andrews hurled it over the edge. There was a splash from below as it landed in the water. I looked over the side and saw at least four other deckchairs bobbing around down there. The stewards were pulling another across the floor, and they hurled that one into the water as well.

"I'm not sure if these will help anyone who falls in, but I had to think quickly," Mr. Andrews told me, watching the stewards drag the last deckchair to the edge and launch it overboard. Then he took my hand and pulled me into a corner, looking over his shoulder cautiously. He reached under his lifebelt and removed his pocket watch from his coat, flipping the case open and noting the time. He silently mouthed to himself, and hesitated before returning the watch to his coat. His brow was shimmering with sweat, and he appeared quite strained.

''Mimi, we don't have a lot of time,'' he said, his eyes large and fearful. ''Remember my calculations? This will all be underwater in an hour and a half. Maybe less... ''

Hearing him say those words, well, my mind just couldn't handle the seriousness of it all. A sour taste quickly began to rise from my stomach and started to burn the back of my throat. I forced a cough, attempting to get rid of the acidic sensation. Clearing my throat afterwards, I looked at Mr. Andrews as he took my hands in his, squeezing my fingers tightly. He held my gaze with such an intensity that the brown of his eyes appeared almost black.

''Dear Mimi,'' he sighed. ''I've arranged something with Officer Lightoller... a place in a lifeboat for you. He's finishing with loading one now, and you'll have a guaranteed seat in the next one. I want you in it,''

I opened my mouth to disagree with him, but we were suddenly distracted by Murdoch, storming past us with Caledon Hockley and his valet in tow. All three of them were in the middle of some sort of heated dispute.

''I'm a businessman, as you know!" we heard Hockley protest. He was shamelessly stuffing Murdoch's coat pocket with dollar bills.

Murdoch turned on his heel and pulled the money from his pocket, throwing it straight back in Hockley's face. Hockley's mouth fell open as the bills fluttered to the floor. I'm sure he wasn't used to having his cold hard cash being treated quite so flippantly!

''You won't buy my loyalty, Mr. Hockley,'' Murdoch grunted. ''Your money can't save you any more than it can save me!"

He shook his head at Hockley with disgust and continued on down the deck towards the davits. Hockley and Lovejoy were left standing there like a couple of fools, exchanging confused glances with each other. I must admit, I was quite impressed by Murdoch's conduct with Hockley. It was good to see that he hadn't accepted a cash bribe. Judging by the notes still on the floor by Hockley's feet, he'd been offered a lot of money.

Mr. Andrews turned his attention back to me again, repeating what he'd already said before Murdoch had distracted us.

''The space in Lightoller's boat is reserved for you, Mimi. You'll need to go now.''

This was my cue to argue with him. I wasn't going anywhere just yet, and he needed to know that. I was there to help!

''That's very kind of you, Thomas,'' I sighed, starting to feel much colder as a gust of chilly wind blew over us. ''But I'll get on one of the other boats. There's more for me to do around here yet. I could help Charlie load the lifeboats!''

He shook his head anxiously and put his hands on my shoulders.

''You'll do nothing of the sort, woman! How could I forgive myself if you're left stranded because your place has gone? Don't be so stubborn!"

I stood on my toes to look over his shoulder at the lifeboats being loaded at the davits; I could see Mr. Lightoller and another crew member, arranging a batch of women and children. They still had to lower away, so there was time for me to hang around a little longer. The outer deck was becoming more and more crowded, and much noisier than before. Passengers from every class were standing everywhere I looked, all rather bewildered. I'm sure I saw Jack and Rose running through the crowd, hand-in-hand, but I wasn't positive that it was them. Hockley and Lovejoy had disappeared from sight, but Hockley's money was still lying on the ground, untouched. I dropped down from my toes and switched my eyes back to Mr. Andrews.

''It's getting busy out here,'' I said, ignoring Mr. Andrews' 'stubborn' comment. Another blast of arctic wind blew across our faces and made us both shiver, prompting Mr. Andrews to step forward closer and shelter me with his tall frame.

''And it'll get busier, Mimi. Now, I've already told Rose to get herself to a boat, so you should be doing the same.''

If it had been Jack and Rose running by moments before, then Rose clearly hadn't taken Mr. Andrews' order too seriously! Something which didn't really surprise me, to be quite honest.

''I'll be on the boat when-''

And we were interrupted again! I didn't get a chance to finish what I was saying, this time because a small child quite literally charged into Mr. Andrews' legs. He was almost bowled forward, into me, and he stumbled. Regaining his balance quickly enough, he turned to see what on earth had hit the back of his legs. A little girl of around six years old stood there on the deck, her eyes wide with fear. She looked scared stiff, the poor child. She was clearly from steerage, judging by the way she was dressed and her ratty hair, half hanging out of its pigtails. My motherly instinct kicked in, as did Mr. Andrews' paternal side. I noticed the expression on his face soften, and he smiled gently, squatting down to be closer to the child's level. I hurried over to her and scanned the area around us, to see if her parents were anywhere to be found.

''Goodness, sweetheart!" Mr. Andrews said to the child, placing a protective hand on her back. ''Where are you off to, hmm?''

The little girl was shy; all she did was shake her head and blink innocently back at him.

''What about your mum and dad, darling?'' I asked her, failing to spot anyone looking for a child.

The child shrugged her shoulders, and this time she found her voice.

''I thought you were my daddy, mister,'' she sighed, a Yorkshire accent punctuating her speech. She was looking straight into Mr. Andrews' eyes. ''I'm-I'm lost... ''

My heart skipped a beat - oh, the poor wee thing. How dreadful for a six year old to be wandering around by herself with all this panic and confusion that was going on. And I could see the mix of emotions on Mr. Andrews' face, too. I think I knew what was going through his head at that moment. He didn't have to say the words; he was thinking about his own daughter, little Elba. Tears were starting to brim in his eyes.

''We'll help you find him. Don't you worry, wee darlin'!'' he said, standing tall and gathering the child into his arms. He lifted her up and she clung to him, burying her tired face into his shoulder. I melted at the sight of this lovely man, such a gentle giant, cradling someone else's lost child so tenderly and with the utmost concern. He was clearly a natural with children, and it seemed so unfair that his wife had barred him from seeing his little Elba. The emotional effects were there for all to see.

''Come on, Mimi,'' he said to me. ''Let's see if we can find her daddy,''

We hurried together through the crowds, the child still clinging to Mr. Andrews tightly. It didn't take long to locate her father, which was a relief. He was looking for her a little farther up the deck, where she'd clearly been separated from him by accident. The joy in his face was obvious as Mr. Andrews approached him, but no wonder the child had been confused. Her dad was a slightly older gentleman who was clad in a long overcoat, in a similar style to that of Mr. Andrews.

''If you please, sir. Is this your child?'' I asked him, making sure he realised we meant no harm.

The man held his hands out, nodding his head wildly.

''Yes! Oh, thank God! Thank God she's safe!"

Mr. Andrews passed the confused little girl into his arms.

''She said she was lost,'' he explained, watching the child snuggle into her father's chest. The father stroked his daughter's messy hair and kissed the top of her head protectively.

''Thank you, Mr. Andrews,'' he said, his voice breaking with emotion. ''Thank you for bringing her back. I thought I'd never see her again in all this madness!''

Mr. Andrews nodded sympathetically and patted the man's arm.

"Good luck to you sir," he said, "and to yer little one."

"She's called Elizabeth, Mr. Andrews," the father chirped with pride. "A name fit for a queen!"

Mr. Andrews froze to the spot upon hearing the girl's name. He forced a smile, nodded his head and turned away. You see, his daughter's real name was Elizabeth; Elba was just a shortened version. Oh, my poor Mr. Andrews. I realised that even the mere mention of a child called Elizabeth was hard for him. Instinctively, I reached for his hand and clutched his fingers, trying to reassure him.

''It's alright, darling,'' I soothed, gazing into his face. ''You'll see her again, I promise you.''

But his expression was pained and his eyes pooled with tears again, as before.

"No, Mimi, I won't," he sighed, his hand trembling in mine.

"Of course you will! We'll sail back to Belfast once we get to New York."

His face was desperate and he shook his head, those brown eyes now completely avoiding me at all costs.

''You don't understand,'' he whimpered, his voice going up at least an octave. ''Remember, there aren't enough lifeboats... ''

I frowned, unsure of what he was trying to tell me.

"I know, but you're the shipbuilder! They'll save you a place on one."

He hesitated, then shut his eyes, squeezing them tightly.

''No... I don't want them to.''

My heart began to pound much harder in my chest. Had I heard him correctly, or was I simply mistaken? I had to be clear.

''What are you saying, Thomas?''

"This is it for me." His voice had now reduced to almost a whisper. ''I'm staying here. I'm staying on _Titanic._''

''WHAT?'' I gasped, dropping his hand from mine with shock. ''You-you can't do that! Are you out of your bloody mind?''

Again, he shook his head and opened his eyes, the muscles in his face relaxing as he did so.

"I'm serious, Mimi. I built this monster and I have to be here when she goes down. It's my duty."

I couldn't take in this revelation. I just couldn't. Why was he doing this? Now who was being the stubborn one? His hands clasped my shoulders and he drew me in closer to him.

''I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I've made up my mind. I must stay with _Titanic_.''


	21. She'd Poisoned His Sweet Mind

**Author's Note: **Apologies for the length of this chapter!

The chapter title (and closing sentence!) is a lyric from Paloma Faith's _New York_. The song is quite fitting to the scene - just replace the New York references with _'Titanic'. _I've also drawn some inspiration from Stephen King's book _Christine_.

As always, a big thanks to the readers/reviewers.

* * *

_**Chapter 21: She'd Poisoned His Sweet Mind  
**_

_'She stood so tall and she never slept,_

_There was not one moment he could regret,_

_He'd left me for another lady.'_

_Paloma Faith, New York_

...

_**April 15th, 1:20 am  
**_

''Thomas, you're not thinking straight!''

I was completely stunned.

''I'm sorry,'' Mr. Andrews sighed, his tone genuinely apologetic. ''I know you weren't expecting this.''

I shook my head quickly, an intense panic increasing throughout my whole body. Expecting it? Of course I wasn't! As if things hadn't been bad enough. Good Lord, I still couldn't take in the nightmare that was unfolding all around us. But now this? I wasn't having it. He wasn't going down with the ship - over my dead body. It was an absurd notion.

''I won't let you. You can't give up so easily!''

Mr. Andrews lifted my hand again and held it against his cheek, but I snatched it away quickly. I was too angry for affection.

''It's not about giving up, Mimi. It's about doing my duty. When you get back to dry land, I'd like you to find a post office.''

He reached into the pocket under his lifebelt and produced an envelope with the White Star Line emblem stamped on the back. His eyes were pleading and his fingers began to tremble as he passed it to me. I took it from him and frowned, turning it over to see who this correspondence was intended for. His barely legible handwriting was scrawled across the front and I squinted my eyes to read it. I couldn't make out much of the address, but the recipient's name was very clear:_ Miss Elizabeth Law Barbour Andrews_.

So he'd been planning this all along! He'd told me in the chartroom that he was going to catch a lifeboat, and stupidly I'd believed him. Well well, the honourable Mr. Andrews had lied to me. He'd already expressed his sorrows and written his goodbyes in a letter to his daughter, which he was bloody well expecting me to post! The nerve of the man. He noted my perplexed look as I gawped at the envelope in my hand.

''I know you're upset, Mimi. Please, post this for Elba's sake, not mine.''

I waved the letter in his face and spat my response back at him.

''You'll give it to her yer bloody self!"

Well, of course I was being snappy. I was fuming at his reckless decision. He could be back home in Belfast if he allowed himself to be! He could see his daughter himself, face to face. His own flesh and blood didn't need to know that her daddy gave up on himself. My God, she deserved more than that.

My temper got the better of me and I suddenly tossed the envelope to the floor. Watching it flutter to his feet, he didn't even seem surprised by my reaction.

''I won't do yer dirty work for you, Thomas,'' I carried on, making sure he was in no doubt about my fury. ''You're going to see Elba again, even if I have to knock you out and drag yer sorry arse to a lifeboat! How can you even think about abandoning your child?''

He bent over and picked up the envelope again, dusting it off and stuffing it back into his coat pocket.

''I've explained everything to her in this message. She'll understand when she's older. I'm not abandoning her.''

''You are!" I scolded, my eyes wide. ''And you're abandoning me. I _love _you, ya selfish bastard!"

He shook his head and turned his back to me, the tails of his heavy overcoat swishing behind him. Oh no, he wasn't doing that to me, turning away from me like that. A man with a conscience would keep facing his woman! I marched around him in a semi-circle, coming to a halt in front of him. His eyes avoided mine and instead he looked over to the night-blackened horizon. The noise of the commotion around us was becoming much louder; I suppose that made it easier for him to detach himself from me.

''You know I've instructed Mr. Lightoller to assist you onto a boat.'' he said emotionlessly.

I stood forward and made sure I was encroaching on his personal space. He needed a firm 'talking to' from me and, goodness, he was getting one whether he bloody well liked it or not.

''Oh yes, that's right. Turn off your feelings, won't you, Thomas? Never mind that I might be carrying your child!''

His eyes slowly returned to mine and he seemed taken aback by what I'd just said. It was probably the wrong time to use such manipulation on him, but I'd blurted it out in haste - though a pregnancy wasn't out of the question. We'd had sexual relations a handful of times and conception had always been a possibility. I'd taken such risks with little thought for the outcome and he'd never seemed too concerned either.

''So, let me get this straight,'' I continued taunting him, folding my arms in front of me. ''You have a child in Ireland who you haven't seen for months. And I could be pregnant with the half-sibling of your daughter. So... that means you plan to abandon two babies and a woman who loves you? How very noble of you, Thomas!''

He clenched his jaw and snarled his upper lip in response. I knew he was seething with me, which was ironic under the circumstances.

''Stop it, Mimi. I'm warning you!''

I scoffed at him.

''Or what?''

He chuckled dryly and stormed across the busy deck, pulling his pocket watch from under his lifebelt and inspecting the time. He nodded to himself as he closed the timepiece and inserted it back inside his coat.

''Look, woman, I can't be having this nonsense!"

I followed him over, stamping my feet forcefully on the wooden panels as I walked.

''If you loved Elba, you'd save yourself!''

That made him even angrier. His broad shoulders began to heave up and down, and he jabbed his finger close to my face as his inner wrath took hold.

''Don't ye be tellin' me I don't love my child. Who are you to speak of such matters? You haven't seen your own daughter for years. You're just a manipulative wee tramp!"

His namecalling shocked me and my mouth dropped open. I wasn't going to stand there and take that sort of vitriol! A split second passed and then I lashed out, slapping him hard across the cheek with my hand. His eyes screwed up tightly as my palm struck his face, and they stayed that way for a moment or so after. He raised his hand to the spot where I'd whacked him, and gingerly rubbed his smarting cheek. I'd given him one hell of a wallop. A red mark began to spread across the left side of his face, the imprint of my fingers on his skin clearly visible. But I didn't regret what I'd done; he'd deserved it. He wasn't getting away with insulting me.

''How could you say those things?'' I whispered, crushed with hurt.

Still nursing his aching cheek with his hand, he gave a slow shake of his head and answered me firmly.

''You mentioned Elba as an excuse to get me to a boat, but your interests are purely selfish. You want me only for yourself. Well, using my wee girl against me is a devious tactic, even for you!"

He couldn't have been more wrong. Of course I'd wanted him on the boat - I wanted him to live, for God's sake! Why on earth would it be anything else? He had to survive for everyone in his life, not just for me. How could he be so cold; so paranoid, regarding my intentions? I searched his eyes, trying hard to hold all my tears in.

''That's not true. There are people who need you, Thomas! I'm only one of them. I won't let you do this. I won't leave you here while I go to a boat!"

''Yes, you will!" he shouted right back, throwing his hands in the air and becoming very animated. ''This ship is the culmination of my life's work! All the years of devotion I put into her, Mimi. But a gentleman must accept his fate. You know there aren't enough lifeboats.''

I grabbed him by the coat lapels and pulled him forward, right up close to me.

''You're travelling first class, Thomas. You designed this goddamned ship! The officers will save you a seat. We were going to be a proper couple, for the first time. We were going to New York. We still can!''

He cupped both of his hands around my face and ran his thumbs tenderly across my cheekbones. His switch from being frosty and abrupt, to showing me compassion, only confused me. But this was not a normal situation we were in; the clock was ticking for everyone onboard and emotions were very high. Oh, how I melted at the touch of his thumbs caressing my cheeks and his huge hands holding my face protectively. I couldn't help it. I always caved in to him, no matter what he said or what he did.

''I'd refuse a place on the boat,'' he told me, his voice soft but full of regret. ''I won't deny someone else the right to save their own life, Mimi. It's my duty! I'd rather face death alone. Now please, no more. You'll do fine without me in New York, or Belfast or wherever you go. It's over for us now. It's over for me and my life. This is the end.''

I squeezed my eyes shut, the full sensation of denial sweeping right over me.

''It's not the end,'' I breathed, ''It's not...''

A cold breeze blew loose wisps of curly hair over my face and Mr. Andrews brushed them away, gently, with his fingertips.

''I'm sorry I snapped at you, Mimi. I shouldn't have said what I did. Oh, this is a dreadful situation for everyone.''

He placed his lips softly on my forehead, lingering there for a moment before moving them away again. I opened my eyes, and as I did, tears began to run in small trickles down the side of my nose. I was losing him, and I could do nothing about it. There seemed to be no way of convincing him to get on a lifeboat.

He rummaged under his lifebelt and pulled out the letter for Elba again, nodding his head expectantly at me.

''Please, Mimi. Post this to Elba when you get to New York.''

I slowly held out my hand and he passed the letter to me. How could I refuse him now? I slipped the envelope into the pocket under my lifebelt and said nothing. We turned our heads suddenly as a sharp hissing noise distracted us; an officer close by had let off an emergency flare, which then exploded in a flash of white sparks high above our heads. Our faces were briefly illuminated by the flash, then by the fading glow. We turned our attention back to each other again, and a weak but warm smile crossed his lips.

''You're lovely,'' he whispered, though I had to strain to hear him over all the noise around us. ''You'll make a wonderful mother and a good wife to a lucky gentleman. Be strong, Mimi. Take care of yourself.''

My teeth chattered in the biting wind, and I tugged my lifebelt tighter around me to try and keep out the chill. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach, knowing we were never going to be together and that he was choosing to die on this ship. It was a noble decision, but one I could never truly accept, no matter how much I tried. I hated him for this, but I understood him as well.

''Where will you go now?'' I asked, wiping the tears from my face with the back of my sleeve.

He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped the cover open.

"Well, it's half past one,'' he sighed as he observed the watchface. He closed the timepiece over again and put it back in the pocket under his lifebelt. "I've done what I can out here. Maybe I'll spend the remaining time in the smoking room. Pour myself a wee brandy to calm my nerves, eh? I have some thinking to do before the...''

His voice trailed off and he didn't finish, but we both knew exactly what he'd been going to say.

''I love you,'' I murmured, looking up at him and lifting my hand to his face. I traced my index finger over the fading red mark where I'd slapped his cheek. ''I'll never forget you. You're the love of my life, Thomas Andrews.''

Mr. Andrews didn't respond. I only wished he would reciprocate those three words. I'd never heard him say them before, but it seemed he wasn't about to start now. He inhaled deeply and stepped away from me, glancing over his shoulder towards Officers Lightoller and Lowe loading the boats nearby. Lightoller had his hands full with distressed female passengers, all saying a tearful goodbye to their men. The lifeboat area had been thrown into complete chaos.

''Please Mimi, go to Mr. Lightoller. He's holding a space for you. You need to hurry.''

I grabbed his hands desperately, but he slipped them out of mine.

''Go to the boat, Mimi.''

With those final words to me, he turned and strolled away down the deck with an odd sense of calm about him. His coat tails billowed out behind him, giving him a masterful silhouette; he looked like a man of power. I watched him go, my body frozen with the cold as well as disbelief. As he walked further down the deck, I saw him undo his lifebelt and pull it off over the top of his head. Then he casually tucked it under his arm, as though it were merely a spare - unwanted, unneeded. He seemed to be the only passenger on deck who was no longer wearing one. It was my final confirmation that he was intent on surrendering his own life to the ocean bed.

_No, don't you leave me. Not like this. You can't..._

I felt every possible emotion running through my body as I remained stock still, people panicking around me. My heart was thudding with shock and with my fear of the unknown. I glanced over my shoulders, dumbfounded by the sheer hopelessness of everything. Confused and frightened passengers of all classes were jostling for their turn on the lifeboats. Lowe and Lightoller were still loading up the boats, and I could hear Lowe's recognisable Welsh tone loudly commanding order over the crowds. The ship's orchestra was out on the deck with their string instruments, playing a wedding waltz, of all things! It was the oddest sight to see them there with their violins and cellos, but I imagined they were following Captain's orders. Some jolly ragtime music would surely mean less panic, but not one passenger was paying the slightest bit of attention to those poor men. And who could really blame them?

Another flare shot up into the air and burst into a shower of sparks above our heads, casting an eerie glow over everyone standing by the davits. The situation was beyond desperate now, and I remembered Mr. Andrews stating the time before he'd left; at least ten minutes or so must've passed since then. By his calculations, _Titanic_ would completely sink to the bottom of the ocean in under an hour. I knew then that I really had to get on Lightoller's boat, which was already close to full capacity. But I needed hope that everything would be alright. I needed the comfort; someone to put their arms around me and tell me I'd survive on my own. I couldn't get on Lightoller's boat just yet. I ached for Mr. Andrews and his strong arms, holding me just one more time.

So, what did I do? I ran, of course. I ran as fast as I could, zig-zagging through the crowds. My heavy boots thudded on the wooden deck floor as I chased the man who'd walked away from me and left me to fend for myself. I saw him just about to disappear through the promenade deck doors, but he paid no attention to the clattering footsteps approaching him from behind.

''Thomas!" I shouted after him at the top of my voice.

He whirled around, startled, and stopped in his tracks at the door.

''What the-? Mimi, you can't_ follow_ me! You must get to the boat!"

I threw myself straight at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding him tightly.

''I will,'' I sighed, inhaling the scent of his coat. ''I just needed to see you once more. Please. Then I'll go... ''

He glanced across to the davits, noting which boats were full and which were not. It seemed that Lightoller's was almost ready to go. Mr. Andrews looked back down at me, his face grave.

''Mimi, your space will be taken if you don't go now! I gave Mr. Lightoller strict instructions to hold it for you.''

''And I'll be there. Just put your arms around me, Thomas. Tell me I'll be alright. _Please_.''

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed heavily and dropped the lifebelt from under his arm to the floor. He slid both arms around me and rocked me with a gentle rhythm; his hold was so soothing, so comforting. He noticed that I was shivering from the cold and with nerves.

''Oh m'dear, you're shaking. Don't worry. Get to that boat and you'll be fine. You'll be safely in New York in a couple o'days. You can do it without me, y'know. There's a fire in you!''

He squeezed my shoulders reassuringly, then released me from his arms. Oh, why couldn't he stop being so stubborn and just wait his turn for a boat? He'd designed this bloody ship, after all. I couldn't see why any of the officers would refuse him a chance to be rescued! He was important to _Titanic_. Important to _me_. They'd understand, wouldn't they? But the decision was his to make, and he clearly hadn't budged an inch on the matter.

''You need to go,'' he said, gesturing a nod toward Lightoller's boat. ''Get on there before Lightoller gives your space to someone else. Please Mimi, do it!''

Yet I couldn't tear myself away from him, not even now.

''Just another moment here and I'll go,'' I whispered.

He was beginning to lose his temper with me.

''Oh for God's sake, woman. Get on the blasted boat before I lift you up and carry you there myself!"

"In a minute,'' I whined like an annoying child, looking up at him with doe-like eyes.

''You'll go _now_!" he retorted angrily. And he stuck by his word. Without hesitation, he grabbed me and ungracefully threw me over his left shoulder. My legs and my dress hung over his front, and my head and arms were dangling over his back. I must've looked like a ragdoll, carelessly slung over his shoulder, with hair and attire drooping.

''Thomas!" I shrieked, feeling dizzy at suddenly being carried upside down in an embarrassing manner. His grip on me was secure and he marched with me across the deck again to the davits, as I pounded on his back with my fists. My hair obscured my vision, and all I could see was the back of his coat and the wooden flooring passing beneath our feet.

''Let me go! You're bloody mad, you are!"

I thudded on his back again, still protesting loudly, but he ignored me and headed to Lightoller's boat. Then he released me from his shoulder and dumped me firmly down on the ground, muttering to himself as he did so. Still feeling rather dizzy, I shook my hair out of my eyes and stumbled to my feet. Mr. Andrews turned to Lightoller and shouted to him above the din.

''Mr. Lightoller, make sure Miss Monaghan actually gets on. I don't want her following me again. Is that clear?''

Lightoller eyed me cautiously and nodded his head.

''Of course, Mr. Andrews.''

And without even a last goodbye, my beloved shipbuilder disappeared through the mass of people, completely out of my sight. Lightoller placed his hand on my back and escorted me to the side of the boat.

''Now hurry along, Miss Monaghan. This one is ready for lowering.''

I looked at him, then at the other passengers seated inside the boat, all apprehensively waiting for me to get my backside in there with them. There was a place saved for me, as promised. But somehow, it didn't feel right to be there. I swallowed hard and felt myself tearing up again. Taking a deep breath, I tried to compose myself, standing taller on the soles of my boots. In the line behind me, stood an anxious middle-aged English couple. I recognised them as passengers from second class; I'd left fresh towels in their stateroom yesterday and I'd knocked on their door during the evacuation. The wife was crying into a silk handkerchief, obviously terrified at the thought of leaving her husband behind. I shifted my eyes back to Lightoller and shook my head.

''I can't,'' I said, making a hasty decision right on the spot. ''Thank you for saving me a seat, Charlie. But I can't get on. Give my space to this lady here,''

Lightoller frowned, confused at my sudden refusal to get on.

''But Mr. Andrews said-''

''Forget what he said,'' I interrupted him. ''Give my seat to this lady.''

I shot him my sternest look, and he complied with me immediately.

''Of course, Miss Monaghan.''

The woman's husband hurried forward and tipped his hat to me.

''Thank you for your generosity, dear. I'll never forget such kindness.''

He gestured to his wife, who followed him and collapsed sobbing into his arms.

''I'll see you on the other side, love. I promise!'' he reassured her, as Lightoller gently tugged her away and led her to the edge of deck. The man turned to me, tears streaming down his face, and nodded his head as a final gesture of thanks.

Yes, I'd definitely made the right decision. I walked away from the davits and pushed through the crowds, heading back in the direction I'd come from with Mr. Andrews. Living without him was something I wasn't prepared to do any more. I'd invested too much emotion in our relationship, and I couldn't let him go. My plan was to do my very best to convince him, one more time, to get himself onto a boat. I wasn't giving up yet. But if he truly wanted to die with his ship, then I knew I wouldn't be able to stop him. I'd concluded that if the worst came to the worst, I'd be with him when it happened.

_If I can't be with him on earth, then surely I can be with him in heaven?_

My final port of call on the ship was the first class smoking lounge, where he said he'd be. If he was allowing _Titanic_ to swallow his soul, then she would have to swallow mine too. It was only then that I realised I wasn't fighting against his troubled marriage any more. I was fighting against another woman in his life; not his estranged wife, and not Rose. This woman couldn't walk or talk. She didn't sleep and she didn't eat. She'd been popular and attractive, and had given him pleasure in a very different way. His other woman, his true love. She wasn't me. She was an inanimate object - a grand ocean liner. She was dying, and he was giving up his own life to be with her. Like the most vindictive of women, she'd poisoned his sweet mind.


	22. A Guardian Angel: Part I

**Author's Note:**

After some deliberating over the length of this chapter, I decided to split it into a** two par****ter**.

There's a continuing theme of 'unable to stay, unwilling to leave' for Mimi in these two parts.

Mimi's recollections (in both) take place over roughly 30 minutes in real time, though it appears longer.

Usual thanks to all supporters.

* * *

**_Chapter 22: A Guardian Angel_  
**

**(Part I)  
**

_Approximately 1:35 am_**  
**

I staggered my way back to the first class smoking room, doing my best to avoid the upturned furniture and other objects strewn in my path. The floor was tilted at a steeper angle than before, but I was determined to make it to Mr. Andrews before _Titanic_ could completely devour him; and make it I did. Out of breath from all the effort I'd made to get there, I tugged open the door to the smoking room and carefully padded in. Mr. Andrews was over by the fireplace, with Rose DeWitt Bukater tearfully wrapped around him, in what I assumed to be their final goodbye. The old me from a few days ago would've thrown a temper tantrum at this sight; the new me understood why they were locked in such an embrace.

A jittery and impatient Jack Dawson stood forward to interrupt them.

''It's going fast. We need to move.''

Mr. Andrews gently pulled away from Rose and graciously handed her the lifebelt he'd abandoned.

''Good luck to you, Rose,'' he whispered, his face crumpling with sorrow.

She accepted the lifebelt from him and nodded her head.

''And to you... ''

Wasting no time, Jack grabbed her hand and yanked her through the revolving door, shooting Mr. Andrews a look over his shoulder on the way out. Mr. Andrews stared after them for a moment or two, then shifted his eyes to the painting of Plymouth Harbour which hung above the fireplace. He rested his palms on either side of the mantel and bowed his head.

''I'm sorry, Rose,'' he murmured to himself, thinking he was now alone and that no-one else could hear him. ''I've failed you. I've failed Mimi. I've failed everyone,''

I took this as my chance to step out of the shadows and let him know of my presence.

''You haven't,'' I said, hurriedly walking towards him by the fireplace. I noticed that the fire was still going, casting a soft amber glow over his face.

Startled at the sound of my voice, Mr. Andrews whirled round and shook his head with denial as he saw me. He stumbled back a few steps, clearly shaken at seeing me once again. He shouldn't have underestimated my determination!

''_No_! No, wait a minute now. You-you can't be here! No... this'll be the brandy! I must be drunk. Or delusional!"

I grabbed his hands in mine and squeezed his fingers hard, giving him reassurance that I was actually there and not a figment of his imagination.

''I had to give it one more shot, Thomas. Please come back out to the deck - I'm begging you.''

His face was as grave as it had been the last time we'd had this conversation.

''Why have you put yourself at_ risk_, Mimi? You're stark raving mad! Didn't Mr. Lightoller put you on that boat like I'd asked him to?''

''It was my decision not to get on. I gave my place to another woman, darling. It's not Charlie's fault.''

Mr. Andrews searched my eyes, and my goodness; his coldness towards me out on the deck seemed to have melted away. He was upset; not just at everything that was happening, but upset that I was putting my life on the line. _For him_. He removed his hands from mine and twisted his fingers through my messy hair, his tall frame towering over me in a way that I didn't find intimidating.

''But why?'' he asked me, his voice softer and mellowed. ''Do you really think I'm worth all this? Mimi, I'm just a man. A man who's made so many mistakes!''

''I know,'' I said, hoping that maybe - just maybe - I could finally get through to him now. ''but you're _my_ man. I need you. And if I'm in the family way, then the baby will need you too,''

His eyes left mine when I mentioned the possibility of a child again. Plymouth Harbour seemed to be his preferred focus when he didn't wish to keep eye contact with me.

''You really think you could be expecting?''

I gave a nod, hoping he would look back at me. He didn't; at least, not then.

''You know it's possible. It would be nice for us to have a child together, wouldn't it? Me, you and a little one - a fresh start. A half sibling for yer wee Elba.''

A hint of a smile began to play on his lips, and his eyes left the blasted painting and returned to mine.

''I always wanted her to have brother,'' he sighed. ''Mrs. Andrews denied me the chance of a son. My lad could've been an architect at Harland and Wolff! I thought I'd never have any more children, Mimi. Not with my marriage being in a dire state,''

I brushed my fingers down the lapels of his overcoat and shut my eyes, resting them for a moment or two.

''If I'm not expecting at this moment, then allow me to be the new Mrs. Andrews and I'll grant you your wish.''

''But if you already are,'' he interjected, ''you must save your life and that of our child,''

I was being so stubborn, let me tell you.

''I won't go anywhere without you, Thomas. If you're going down with _Titanic_, then so am I.''

Mr. Andrews gave a sigh at my ridiculous admission.

''Absolutely not! You will not go down with this ship, Mimi.''

I opened my eyes and nodded my head.

''I'm willing to do it. If I can't be with you in this life, then I'll be with you when the Almighty takes us.''

He threw his hands in the air, aghast at what he must've considered absolute stupidity.

''I won't have it, Mimi! Dear Lord, I won't!_ Titanic_ is my responsibility, not yours. I must stay with her! Please, darlin', get back up to the deck before all the boats are gone. Don't do this!''

Now he knew how I'd been feeling. The tables were turned, and he didn't like it! A tear trickled down his cheek and he quickly mopped it away with his sleeve, probably hoping that I wouldn't even notice it. Was the usually stoic Mr. Andrews showing some emotion for his human mistress?

Of course, when I say 'human', I'm being very deliberate with my wording. My rivalry was no longer with Mrs. Andrews. My rivalry was with this enormous calamity falling apart around us, killing innocent souls and pulling them into the cold Atlantic ocean below. She was my newest nemesis - she wouldn't want me there with Mr. Andrews as he gave up his life for her. Why should I cave in to her demands and let her win? She'd stolen everything I'd wanted, everything I'd desired, away from me.

''I love you, and I'll do it,'' I told Mr. Andrews, firmly.

''I won't watch you suffer!" he cried back, raking a hand roughly through his hair.

I remained calm and unperturbed, which was rare for me.

''Maybe it'll be over quickly... ''

He began to pace the floor, his hands still clawing at his hair.

''I can't let you do this for my sake. And it mightn't be just you and me any more!''

He stopped pacing and grasped me by the shoulders. His reddened eyes were pleading with me.

''If there's a child growing inside your belly, you owe it the chance of a life! Can't ye see?''

I was silent; I had nothing to back myself up with. I knew that I didn't really want to end my own life at the age of twenty seven years. But the thought of having to grieve for him terrified me. Becoming the equivalent of his widow, before we'd even married. Never being his lawfully wedded wife. Never buying our first home together. Never seeing him be a father. What would I have left, if I didn't have my Thomas?

The nagging little voice inside my head wouldn't let me be.

_Ask yourself this, Mimi. What if you ARE expecting? Doesn't your child deserve a chance? _

Nag nag, bloody nag. That voice inside my head hadn't stopped talking the whole time we'd been out at sea. These inner thoughts just wouldn't hush up, and now they were really challenging me._  
_

_Thomas wants a son. If you kill yerself, you kill your child!_

But how could I let _Titanic_ win? If I walked away now, she would take him away from me. He would die for her._  
_

_If there's a child in you, Mimi, then YOU win. You'll still have a part of Thomas. His death won't have been in vain.  
_

I closed my eyes as the thoughts plagued my head, over and over again. _  
_

''Mimi, there isn't much time,'' Mr. Andrews sighed, taking me back to reality. ''Tell me you don't want to die here,''

I felt him wrap his long fingers around mine, startling me into opening my eyes again.

''Save yourself. Save this child. My intuition tells me that you're pregnant,'' he insisted.

I hesitated for a moment or two, before speaking.

''Oh, I'd very much wish to be. It would be all I have left of...'' and my voice trailed off quietly.

_It'd be all I have left of you. _

My mind finished off the sentence_, _but I didn't say it out loud; I couldn't. Mr. Andrews bowed his head pensively and looked to the floor, as though he'd heard the words. After a pause, he looked up again, a forlorn expression on his face.

''If there is a child, then do your best. The little mite won't have a daddy around,'' he said, his voice faltering. Another tear rolled down his cheek, and he quickly swept it away with his hand. ''What'll become of my family? I haven't even made my peace with Mrs. Andrews. I'm leaving everyone behind, Mimi. Please get out now while you can! Our child deserves to live.''

He was right, and I knew it. I gave in to him, and to the voices in my head telling me to escape this nightmare. I didn't want to leave him alone to die; but he was the most stubborn man I'd ever met. And of course, I had to start thinking of the potential life inside of me. I'd lost my Marie nine years ago. I couldn't let another defenceless child down as well. I nodded my head in agreement, as tears smarted at the corners of my eyes.

''Alright, Thomas. I'll go.''

Clearly relieved with my decision, a warm smile spread across his face. He lifted my chin with his finger, and gently caressed my cheek with the back of his other hand. Goodness me; his touch was incredibly soothing. I tilted my head back contentedly, breathing slowly.

''You know you're doing the right thing,'' he whispered.

Without another word, he gripped my waist and forcibly pulled me to him, sending us both stumbling backwards onto the couch behind. Well, this had certainly taken me by surprise. He straightened up into a sitting position and I straddled his lap, steadying myself on his shoulders. He brushed the damp, stringy curls out of my face and leaned forward to kiss me. Of course, I reciprocated, and it was all very gentle at first. Then gentle became, well... not so gentle. We had a sudden and insatiable thirst for each other, and I was not complaining that he had initiated this. _Titanic_'s structure creaked loudly around us; perhaps she was scolding Mr. Andrews over his final, passionate encounter with her nemesis? Something across the room fell to the floor, but neither of us gave it much thought and we carried on, regardless. I could taste the brandy on his tongue, but it didn't bother me; I rather liked it. I unbuttoned his heavy overcoat and slid my hands beneath his waistcoat, stopping short of going under his dress shirt. Looking back, our actions may have seemed somewhat irrational under the circumstances. But at the time, I'd felt they weren't. This was our goodbye. It was comforting to be with him in such a way; the fear of the unknown was so overwhelming. If we'd had more time, I'm sure we would've done more than exchange emotionally charged kisses.

After an intense minute or two of his lips being locked with mine, he moved his face back and watched my eyes. Neither of us said anything about what we'd just done. The knowing looks we gave each other were more than enough.

''Mimi, I've never had a reason to say this to anyone before,'' Mr. Andrews whispered shyly. ''but, I believe you're... well, my guardian angel,''

Now, I wasn't sure at first if I was hearing things! But I wasn't, and his words were definitely real. My heart gave such a flutter. Being thought of as his 'guardian angel' was incredibly humbling, and probably as near to being his wife as I would get.

''Do you really mean that?'' I gasped, my eyes widening.

He nodded, tracing his fingertip over the outline of my lips.

''Yes. I think the Lord sent you on this voyage, to look out for me. You keep coming back to me, Mimi. You've put your life on the line for me. No-one else on this ship would've done that. Not for _me._''

I kissed his fingertips and gathered his hand in mine, shaking my head sadly. I didn't _feel_ like anyone's guardian angel; weren't such beings sent to prevent their chosen one from coming to harm? Some guardian angel I'd been. I'd failed in my mission.

''But-but you won't leave the ship,'' I whimpered. ''I can't convince you to save yourself,''

''Well, my dear,'' he sighed. ''There are times when divine intervention doesn't help. Staying with_ Titanic_ was my decision. It's not your fault. Some things just... are_._''

I wrapped my arms around his back and closed my eyes, resting my chin on his broad shoulder. I was painfully aware of _Titanic_'s agonising creaks and groans; again, she seemed to be protesting loudly. I could've sat on his lap with my head on his shoulder forever, but time did not permit us. I was the first to break off our embrace, and I climbed from his lap and stood to my feet again. I smoothed out the creases of my skirt with a sense of unease, as Mr. Andrews left the couch and returned to the fireplace.

Glancing over at the clock on the mantel to note the hour, my chest tightened - it was ten minutes to two. _Titanic_ was disintegrating at a faster rate than before, and I had to prepare myself for the heart wrenching task of leaving Mr. Andrews to die alone.

_(Part 2 continued in Chapter 23)_


	23. A Guardian Angel: Part II

**Author's Note****:** Second part of the previous chapter.

Please note that towards the end of this chapter, there are some scenes of a (possibly) distressing nature.

* * *

**_A Guardian Angel: Part II_**

**_1:50 am_**

Mr. Andrews lifted an untouched tumbler of whiskey from the mantle, swirling the alcohol around the glass with a motion of his wrist. He put it to his lips and swigged it all down in one go, grimacing at the bitter taste. Returning the empty glass to its place, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

''I'll need a wee bit more o' this to steady my nerves,'' he said wryly, before changing the subject. ''Mimi, you _must _get yerself back up there to Lightoller,''

I ignored his order and decided to ask him about something on my mind.

''Why are you being so different to when we were out on deck?''

Mr. Andrews rolled his eyes to the ceiling desperately.

''We've no time for any more arguments, Mimi!"

I tugged at his sleeve, trying to accentuate my point.

''I'm not arguing. The way you're being with me now, is different.''

He glanced over his shoulder at the mantel clock, then back at me again. He seemed tired, and I noticed beads of perspiration gathering in the fine lines on his forehead. He swallowed hard, loosening his necktie from the winged collar of his dress shirt.

''Well, if you insist I tell you. The truth is, I detached myself from you out there,'' he admitted, his tone soft and endearing. ''Men are not expected to show their feelings in public. But we're not in public any more, Mimi,''

Goodness me - there _was _a human being under all of that prim, proper and sometimes aloof male pride. It had taken his own impending death, and the death of his beloved creation, for him to actually imply that he cared about me! And he'd called me his 'guardian angel'. That certainly counted for something, but I still wished he hadn't been so callous with me out on the deck in front of an audience.

I lifted my hand to his face and brushed away a tear running down the side of his nose, then I stood on my toes to give myself a little height. I placed my lips softly on his cheek, keeping them there for a second or two. His smooth skin was moist and tasted salty with all the tears he'd shed. I could smell a hint of his cologne, mixed with the damp, musty aroma of sea water soaking into the carpets.

''Never forget how much I love you, Thomas,'' I murmured. My voice sounded calm, but deep inside I was pleading with him to remember my words.

''Oh, my dearest Mimi,'' he replied, serenely.''We shared some wonderful moments together on this voyage. You have a kind heart, m'darlin'. You're my angel! And goodness me, you're tenacious. What a spirit you have in there,''

I closed my eyes, as my own tears began to roll down my cheeks. Forcing my eyes to open again, I witnessed how much Mr. Andrews was beginning to fall apart. Heavy perspiration glistened all over his face, and it seemed to be a cold sweat. It certainly wasn't warm in the smoking room - there was quite a chill in the air, despite the fire still smouldering in the fireplace. He suddenly clutched both of my shoulders with a tight grasp, and shook me. My hair was already hanging loose from its hairpins and more stray curls fell into my eyes.

''Now please - you have to go," he repeated for the hundreth time. ''You should've been on that boat by now. There might be a collapsible or two left,''

I was visibly trembling and I started to feel sick to the pit of my stomach. I grabbed the lapels of his overcoat, and it was my turn now to give him a shake.

''You have my heart and my soul. I'll always love you, remember. I would've been yours, forever. Please know this! _Please_. I wish you'd come... ''

As I said those words, a glass of brandy slid forward by itself on the tilted mantel. It dropped, shattering at our feet. Mr. Andrews gazed down at the sharp pieces, watching the burgundy liquid staining the Persian rug. He swallowed hard before slowly lifting his head. The tormented look in his eyes still haunts me, even now. His face was pale; the man was clearly broken. The perception of his own defeat was so heartbreakingly evident, written all over his exhausted features.

''All the work I put into this, Mimi. My devotion to these ships ruined my marriage. Architecture has been my life! It's over now. _Titanic_ is ailing fast. She'll be at the bottom of the sea in half an hour or so - I've failed two thousand innocent souls. I cannot leave!''

I took his hand in mine and gripped his clammy fingers, squeezing them tightly.

''None of this is your fault. D'ye hear me, Thomas? You built a sturdy ship!''

He shook his head vigorously as more tears gathered in his eyes.

''I thought I did. And I'll never forgive those White Star fools! Refusing more lifeboats, indeed. Why didn't they listen to me?"

The floor beneath us gave an unexpected jolt forward, startling us both. Mr. Andrews gripped the mantel to keep his balance, and I held onto the nearest candelabra on the wall. There was an unsettling moaning sound coming from under our feet; _Titanic_ was disgruntled! Her self destruction was quickening and I knew I needed to find a lifeboat, if there were any left to find. Even the collapsibles were inhabited and most had already gone. But I knew now that no amount of convincing Mr. Andrews could change his mind. His creation was devouring the souls of many innocent people, and he was simply accepting his fate.

Frigid sea water was now beginning to seep into the carpet around our feet, and I could feel it leaking through the cracks of my boots. Mr. Andrews looked at the clock again, then back at me. He paused for a second or two, and held my eye with his gaze. Oh, I'd wanted him to hold me just once more, but time was something we didn't have.

''I won't forget you, Mimi, even when God has taken me down with this ship,'' he said proudly. ''I'll be watching you and the little 'un from heaven's gates. Maybe I can return the honour and be _your_ guardian angel.''

My heart broke into tiny little pieces at his words. Yes, it seemed he really did care about me. There was no more guessing. And instead of saying anything of value in return, the most I could do was stand there and sob my heart out.

Rummaging beneath his overcoat into the pocket of his waistcoat, he pulled out his pocket watch and unclipped its chain from his waistcoat button. I'd seen him with this well used timepiece in his hand every day for the several months that I'd known him. He was an obsessive timekeeper who'd loved his little pocket watch.

''Here,'' he whispered, standing forward and lifting my hand up. He placed the watch in my palm, and squeezed my fingers shut around the gold plated casing. The chain dangled loosely over my thumb.

''I shan't be needing this any more. Please keep it safe, Mimi. If we have a son, pass it on to him on the eve of his eighteenth birthday.''

The shiny casing was still warm from his body temperature, having been tucked inside his waistcoat all day long. I opened my hand to look at the watch, nodded my head sadly, and slipped it into my coat under my lifebelt. I felt honoured that he'd entrusted me with something personal; something to give to a possible son and heir.

''You have my word, Thomas,'' I told him, my voice cracking as I said his name.

He smiled weakly and began rubbing at his temple with unease. I could see the tension mounting within the muscles of his jaw, before he spoke again.

''There will be people who'll make it out alive from this, but many won't. That's the reality. Not enough lifeboats means hundreds will die. Maybe thousands,'' He paused for a moment and shook his head, before adding, ''Don't be one of them,''

I hadn't imagined that so many of _Titanic_'s passengers would not see the dawn of a new day. The realisation of it all was finally hitting me. I slipped my arms around him again and tightened my grip. I was so anxious, I think I almost squeezed the lifeblood out of him. He was clearly just as nervous - his breathing was shallow and cold perspiration continued to trickle down his face. He kissed the top of my head, and pulled back quickly from my arms to look me in the eye. His face was close and his eyes were desperate.

''My dear Mimi, you need to go now. D'you understand? She's pulling us down. Find a boat, Mimi. You _must_.''

I knew what I had to do, but the thought of leaving him there was too much to bear. I shivered, partly out of fear and also with the chill in the atmosphere.

''I-but, Thomas, I can't-I... ''

Again I clung to him, terrified, and I can remember that he was trembling along with me.

''NO, Mimi!" he scolded loudly, pulling me off of him with strong hands. ''There's no time. Get up to the deck and save yourself now, or so _help_ me God!''

With those words, he'd pushed me away forcefully, in the direction of the revolving door. The freezing water was a little past our ankles. Sobs caught in my throat, and my eyes screwed up with such pain. It wasn't a physical pain, but a mental pain, deep inside my head. I felt nothing but sickening anguish at the thought of leaving him behind.

I pulled my coat over my shoulders tighter, trying to contain the overwhelming feeling of helplessness, and I looked back at him.

''Maybe they'll be loading men on now? Don't just st... ''

Shaking his head as I spoke, he cut me off.

''This is MY ship, Mimi.''

There was no point in protesting any more over his obvious devotion to _Titanic_. I pressed my fingers to my lips, softly gesturing a goodbye kiss in his direction. He acknowledged it with a nod of his head, as his terrified eyes blinked back more tears. I turned on my heel to leave, and then I paused. He was still watching me. Oh, goodness; I could see that he was shivering, even with his heavy overcoat on. His chest was heaving as he worked himself into a panic.

I must've been a reckless fool, but instead of just turning and walking away like I should've done, I sprinted back through the water and threw myself into his arms. Yes, all over again! Goodness, I almost knocked him backwards. He didn't even resist me like I'd thought he would - he returned my embrace and held me firmly. He was still shaking and panting and everything else, nothing more than a shadow of his former self.

''I'm _afraid_, Mimi,'' he said, his voice quivering as much as his bottom lip.

''Then let's get out here!" I insisted, stepping back from him and gripping his hand to make a getaway together. If the only way for him to come with me was to drag him kicking and screaming, then I'd do just that.

He squeezed my fingers and looked into my face, then slipped my hand out of his. The perspiration shimmered over his forehead and his usually ruddy Irishman's cheeks were pale. He looked more than terrified now; he looked ill. A raspy sound hitched in his throat as he tried to inhale his next breath, and his face contorted into a pained expression. He rubbed his chest over his coat, and slumped his shoulders. Then he moaned softly and staggered back a couple of steps, his legs unable to support his six feet tall frame properly. Something wasn't right with him. It wasn't just fear... it was much more than that.

''What's the matter?'' I asked, confused as I watched him try to steady himself.

His hands were shaking and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. Whatever this was, it had come on very unexpectedly.

''I-I don't know,'' he panted, losing his balance and stumbling backwards onto the couch where we'd had our intimate moment.

Unsure of what to do, I knelt down on the sodden carpet in front of him. I just wanted to help him in any way I could. The tilt of the floor meant that water was swirling around close to us, so it would only be a matter of minutes before it would reach this part of the room. A heavy glass ashtray fell from the mantel onto the wet carpet with a loud thud, which startled me. Mr. Andrews didn't even seem to notice. He hauled himself up onto his elbows on the couch, as short, gasping breaths escaped from his chest.

''I n-never wanted this... for you. You have to go!''

He was ashen faced; an unhealthy grey tinge had washed out the colour of his skin. What seemed to be a sudden wave of pain swept through his chest and caused him to grimace, and he reached for my hand. His nails dug into my palm as he moaned quietly. I just couldn't understand what was happening to him! I felt completely helpless, and tears spilled down my cheeks as I tried hard to make any sense of his condition.

''I'm not leaving you here!" I whispered, my eyes darting from his face to the hand that was squeezing mine so tensely.

His free hand began to grapple clumsily with the buttons on his overcoat, so I helped him to unfasten them. He slid his trembling fingers beneath the coat and clutched the left side of his chest, as what seemed to be another wave of pain shot through him. He wailed out this time with the intensity of the sensation, and his head rolled backwards. His eyes were screwed up tightly and his teeth were clenched. I noticed that his knuckle was white, as he continued digging his nails into my palm. What on earth was _happening _to him? I just didn't understand. I wished there had been a doctor around, but of course there was no-one else down there any more. It was just the two of us, alone, with only the rising water for company. I couldn't even think straight, and of course, time was of the essence.

''Thomas, tell me what's wrong!'' I pleaded, desperate to be able to help him.

His face crumpled with pain again, and all I could do was watch. I didn't know what in heaven's name to do any more. I was useless. A guardian angel, sent from above to watch over him? His romanticised idea of my role in his life was clearly flawed.

''Save yourself... '' he wheezed, wearily resting his head on the cushion of the seat. ''There isn't long left-''

I was little more than a complete mess by now. Tears were running down my face, my nose was streaming, my whole body was shaking. Oh, I could barely speak for the panic I was in. Mr. Andrews unscrewed his eyes and looked at me, forcing another shallow breath to utter the most special words I'd ever heard him say to me.

''You're... my angel... Mimi. I-I love... you.''

I'd heard him clearly - he'd said it. HE LOVED ME. Oh, my goodness; he loved me. These were the words I'd desperately wanted to hear for days. He'd said them. He'd finally_ said_ them. A part of me was still in denial, but in those days a man did not tell a woman he loved her unless he'd truly meant it. I whimpered and trembled uncontrollably, and I began to smother his face with kisses as a 'thank you' for admitting his feelings. It had made me so happy, but I was very distracted his sudden illness. And of course, his ship was closing in around us; it couldn't have been a worse situation.

Sweat continued to trickle down his neck, but his skin was cold. I lifted my head from his and stroked his cheek with my fingertips, soothing him into closing his eyes. The combination of my tears, mixed with his perspiration, gave his face a soft sheen in the light. But there was something different about him now. He'd stopped wheezing and the muscles in his jaw were relaxed - perhaps whatever pain he'd been in had subsided. I was relieved that he seemed more at ease, at least for the moment.

''Now listen to me, Thomas. I'll get you out of here,'' I whispered, as I felt the chilly water begin to rise around my knees on the floor. I replaced my emotional head with my rational head, quickly planning what to do to get him up and moving. He wasn't going to die with this bloody ship any more - he was coming with me! He'd believed I was his guardian angel, after all.

But he clearly had no strength left, and I didn't know how on earth I was going to drag a sick man of six feet tall with me. We'd have to wade through all this water and climb to the outside deck. But I knew I had to do it - I would not simply leave him there.

''Put your arm around me. I'll help you up,'' I said, rising from my knees and holding my hands out to him. Most of the fabric of my dress was now dripping wet, and I needed to get him out of there before the water rose any higher.

Mr. Andrews didn't respond, so I took his elbow and tried my best to pull him up.

''I know you're weak, but let's go,'' I told him, ''We only have minutes left!"

But I noticed that there was no tension in his arm. Nothing. It was strangely limp.

''Please, we need to go now!" I said loudly, panic rising in my voice.

He still wasn't responding. The realisation hit me there and then, and the blood literally ran cold through my veins. He wasn't breathing any more. His whole body was completely motionless.

_Oh, dear God. Dear God, no..._

I got back on my knees again, even though the water had risen further, and wrenched his overcoat wide open. My hands shook as I ripped open the buttons of his waistcoat and then his shirt. I placed my ear on his chest, straining to hear over the rush of the water and the clatter of the plates swimming around me. There was no sound from Mr. Andrews. No breathing. No heartbeat. _Nothing_. I don't know why, but I shook him, willing him to wake up.

''Come on Thomas, there's no time for games!'' I cried, searching his face for a flicker of life.

But I knew deep down that he wasn't playing games. I knew he wasn't going to wake up. I knew he wasn't asleep, or even unconscious. My darling Mr. Andrews, my darling Thomas. He was gone. He'd left me, and I didn't even know how, or why. Three short hours before any of this, we'd been happy. He'd promised to divorce his wife and we'd laid ourselves bare to each other. New York had beckoned as a fresh start for me and for him, together. I could not get my head around any of the events after that; colliding with the iceberg, the panic and the madness, the ship's sinking, and Mr. Andrews losing his will to live. My precious ship builder had died as I'd kissed him for telling me he'd loved me. And I didn't know _how_ - I didn't know _why_. What had happened to him in those few minutes? I couldn't make sense of any of it. He'd been fearful of the end of _Titanic_, but his physical health had seemed just fine. How could he decline so unexpectedly - so quickly? Had his heart given out with the stress? I wasn't a nurse. I had no answers.

Still kneeling in front of the couch with water gushing around me, I stared with wideyed disbelief at Mr. Andrews' still form. His head was resting on the cushion and his arms were by his sides. If I hadn't known any better, I'd have thought he was sleeping. He was peaceful, and there was no more pain; no more anguish. I inhaled deeply through my nose and buried my head into his chest, feeling his cool bare skin against my cheek. Hours before this, I'd been snuggled soundly with him in his bed, listening to his breathing and the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. Now there was nothing to hear.

''What _happened_ to you, darling?'' I murmured, knowing he would never give me the answer. ''Why did you leave me?''

Hearing creaking noises over my head, I realised that I didn't have much time to get out. I kissed his chin, and decided to give him the dignity he so rightly deserved. If his wish was to go down with his ship, then he was going to look like the respected gentleman that he was.

I suppose you could say I turned off my emotions and switched on my 'autopilot', as I began to tend to his body. This was my duty, after all. Firstly, I fastened up all the buttons on his dress shirt and his waistcoat. Then I straightened his tie and pulled his coat over him, brushing down any creases in the heavy material. After that, I moved his arms, clasping his hands on top of his chest. Lastly, I took the handkerchief from his coat pocket and gently dabbed away the sweat from his face, before returning the handkerchief. There was no time right now to cry; I had to get moving if I wanted the chance to live. Still trembling, I kissed Mr. Andrews gently on the lips and stood up from my knees. My dress was sticking to my thighs and my boots were soaked through to my feet. It was getting much colder now, and I needed to head to the outer deck. I looked at Mr. Andrews' lifeless form one more time.

''If you're watching me from heaven's gates, I'll be sure to do you proud. I'm sorry I couldn't be the guardian angel you needed. I'll do my best never to let you down again. I love you.''

With my hand, I gestured the Catholic sign of the cross over my chest, and turned to begin wading through the flooding. Something across the room crashed down from the ceiling and splashed into the water, but I didn't look back. I couldn't bear to see Mr. Andrews' body lying there as I left him behind. The lights flickered as I hauled myself through the waist high water, dodging crockery and other items floating past my thighs.

_Don't look back. Don't remember him like this._

With my final thought still echoing in my head, I got down to the drier end of the corridor and made a dash for the aft stairs. _Titanic_ had little time left before she was to surrender herself to the seabed, and it would take me a few minutes to get out on to the upper deck. This was not a moment for mourning, but for acting hastily. As blunt as it may sound, I had to save my own life now and grieve later. But believe me when I say that losing Mr. Andrews would hit me afterwards, many times over. His death in front of me had been so sudden, and I would be floored by everything that had happened.

The shipbuilder's true mistress had claimed her prize - she'd taken him away from me. My gut instinct told me I was expecting her master's child, but I wouldn't let her destroy its right of a life. Fight or flight; we were going to survive.

**...**

**Random note about Thomas's last scene****:** _Thomas's dying moments in this chapter were partially inspired by Jack Bristow's final scene with screen daughter Sydney, in the show 'ALIAS.' Jack was fatally wounded by a gunshot, lying helplessly on the ground as he talked to Sydney for the last time. As many of you know, Jack Bristow was played by our Mr. Andrews actor, Victor Garber. _


	24. Every Man For Himself

**Author's Note**: This chapter isn't quite canon to the actual sinking timeline, for creative purposes only. Otherwise Mimi wouldn't stand a chance!

Many, many thanks for all the continued support from readers and reviewers.

* * *

**_Chapter 24: Every Man For Himself_  
**

_**2:03 am, approximately  
**_

I don't know how I got outside to the boat deck, given my state of mind at that point. I can only remember behaving in a practical manner, daring myself not to show any emotion. Of course I'd felt it; the love of my life had died in my arms so suddenly. But there was no time to be breaking down into floods of tears and throwing myself to the floor. This was about survival. I had to find a lifeboat, for God's sake. It was Mr. Andrews' wish for me to make it out of there alive.

My dress was completely sodden by now, and it was getting harder to walk. My poor legs were being affected by the cold, and my thighs were already numb. The insoles of my boots were soaked, and there was a squelching sensation between my toes and against my heels. I was losing the feeling in my fingertips, and I'm sure my lips must've been a subtle shade of blue. It was chilly out there on the deck, and being soaked from the waist down had only made the chill worse for me.

I had to gather my thoughts together quickly, as I scanned my surroundings out on deck. There was nothing short of absolute pandemonium all around me. The lifeboats had all left the davits by now, and I glanced over the deckside to see how far away they all were. Most of them were now a fair distance from the ship, barely visible to the naked eye in such darkness. People were attempting to run across the deck to the one remaining collapsible, but there were just too many for it to take. I watched with terrified eyes as folk swamped the thing, turning it upside down in their panic. All the inhabitants were thrown into the water. One of them was Charles Lightoller, who I can only say was doing his very best under difficult circumstances. Trying to keep himself afloat in the freezing water, he and other men used all the power they could muster to flip the boat back over again. I could've sworn that Caledon Hockley was one of these men who'd helped, though it was hard to tell with such madness everywhere around us. Mr. Andrews had said these boats were designed to take the weight of seventy men, but there were at least one hundred desperate people on this side of the ship alone. My belief that I had no chance of a space, well, it only filled me with despair. And despite all those Godfearing people around me, I felt completely alone now. I no longer had Mr. Andrews. I couldn't see Jack and Rose anywhere, and I didn't have the slightest idea where the other stewards and ship staff were.

My shoulders slouched at the thought of the remaining boat being swamped. I had to face my impending doom; I honestly thought I wasn't going to make it. My hands began to tremble uncontrollably, and the corners of my mouth twitched.

_No boats left. This is it. This is the end. Oh God, this is the end..._

''Miss Monaghan!"

A sudden voice, from right behind me, prompted me to whirl around.

I couldn't believe it; it was William Murdoch. A very pale and stressed looking William Murdoch, at that. I was surprised and relieved to see that there was still a senior member of the crew around; a familiar face. Surely he would know what to do in this sort of situation, being an experienced seaman of his caliber.

''Will!" I'd gasped, upon seeing him. I'm sure the relief was apparent in my face. ''Oh, thank God!''

All the emotion overcame me, though I hadn't wanted it to. Not then, and not at that time. It was rather foolish of me to break down when I should've been thinking about how the hell to survive! My eyes brimmed with tears, and I hoped to goodness that they wouldn't begin streaming down my face. But hoping was no use; these bloody tears were coming anyway. I slumped forward against Murdoch's chest, sobbing quietly into the padded shoulder of his navy trenchcoat. In what seemed to be a protective gesture, he put his arms around me and drew me in closer.

''Are you alright, lass?'' he asked, as we were buffeted around by distressed passengers. These people were too blinded by panic to notice us standing there.

''Of course I'm not!'' I snapped, lifting my head from his shoulder to aim daggers at him with my eyes.

He swallowed nervously.

''Where's-where's Andrews?''

I opened my mouth to answer him, and then I hesitated. I couldn't say the words. I couldn't even admit to myself that Mr. Andrews had died, let alone to anyone else. It was too painful. Too raw. I buried my face in Murdoch's shoulder again, and all I could do was weep. I was in shock, as well as being cold, miserable and desperate. Murdoch rubbed my back soothingly, realising that my tears were the result of grief and hopelessness. He asked no further questions, but offered me his condolences. He actually sounded sincere.

''I'm so sorry, Miss Monaghan. I know you loved him.''

There was a jolt, and the promenade began to slide from under our feet as Titanic's stern angled a little further. We stumbled a little, though Murdoch didn't let go of me; his hold on me was tight. As ridiculous as it sounds now, I still believed Titanic was punishing me for her master's premature death in the arms of his human mistress. This once beautiful liner seemed to despise me, but perhaps I despised her more.

Murdoch peered across the deck and made a low, gutteral sound in his throat. He gently tugged me away from his shoulder, and looked me closely in the eye.

''Right, lassie. Here's the plan,'' he began firmly, as more people carelessly barged past us. ''I'm _still_ First Officer around here, and my orders will stand. You know of the last collapsible down there?''

He motioned a gloved hand across to the edge of the deck; Lightoller was doing his best to control those who'd swamped the remaining boat in the water.

I nodded my head vigorously, confirming that I knew about the boat he was referring to.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, and grasped me by the elbow.

''Then let's get you on it.''

I had no time to argue with him. He pulled me through the throng of desperate passengers, shoving men out of his way if they didn't respond fast enough to his demands.

''Oi_, you_ lot! Move yer arses! Expectant mother comin' through!" he barked, his Scottish dialect sounding quite thick and overly exaggerated. ''Move yer lardy arses and let us _past_!"

_What on earth? Expectant mother? How in Heaven's name does he know of this?_

I can only imagine he must've been a witness to the somewhat heated and emotionally charged display between Mr. Andrews and me, out on the deck earlier on. He couldn't possibly have known about my suspected delicate state otherwise. The only person I'd told was Mr. Andrews, although clearly more people had heard than I'd realised. But keeping my possible pregnancy a secret wasn't top of my agenda at that moment; I knew why Murdoch was yelling about it, and I was grateful that he was putting my welfare first. He barged through the crowds with me, and encouraged me to go forward to the side of the deck. My stomach lurched at the thought of the fifty feet drop into the cold ocean below. Did I have the nerve to do it?

''You'll have to jump, Miss Monaghan,'' Murdoch said, brutal honesty in his voice.

I'd known he was going to say that anyway, but I still had to think. I didn't have the confidence to believe I could simply jump and that Lightoller would get to me before I drowned.

''I-I can't do that! I'm not even a good swimmer," I gasped, raising my hands to my hair and grabbing anxiously at the curls hanging in my face.

Murdoch took my shoulders in his grasp, lowering his chin to look up at me with such pleading eyes. What was it with these men, clamouring to save me? First Mr. Andrews, now William Murdoch. I couldn't understand why I was so special.

''You're wearing a lifebelt,'' he reassured me. ''It'll help you stay buoyant long enough to swim over to the boat. Lights will pull you in, lass. Don't worry your pretty wee head, now,''

Despite what he'd just said, I was still in a bit of a panic. Well, anxiety was a part of human nature, wasn't it? I'm sure I must've looked rather more than frightened at the prospect of jumping into the water below. And what about Elba's letter? The pocket watch? They'd get wet, even tucked inside my coat pocket.

''You must jump and swim to that boat,'' Murdoch reiterated. ''You need to live, lassie. If not for yourself, but for that wee baby you might be carrying,''

His eyes lingered on mine for a moment. He'd clearly meant every word. Strange how such tragic circumstances can change even the most hard hearted of men; I'm damn sure I could even see a hint of a tear in those blue eyes.

''Andrews wanted you safe, and so do I. I'll give Lights an order to let you in the boat. You have priority. Do you trust me?''

Well, I had to trust him, didn't I? I suppose I can compare myself to a cat, with nine lives. Those lives were rapidly dwindling away, all in the space of one night. I'd been given chance after chance to save myself, and every time, I'd refused. I'd put other people before myself; most notably, Mr. Andrews. But he was gone now, and there was nothing more to refuse. Murdoch was being true and honest. His fun and games with me had stopped, as soon as he'd failed to port this ship around the iceberg. I don't know why he'd wanted to save me, or why he'd thought I was a priority over the hundred or so other people on that side of the deck. But he did. I'll never know why.

''I trust you,'' I told him quietly, feeling the cold nipping at my hands and my legs once again.

He nodded his head.

''Good lass. Well, um...this is goodbye, then.''

I chuckled nervously. It was just one of these silly, anxious reactions I couldn't control.

''I suppose it is. You're not going to try and...?''

Murdoch looked to his feet.

''I've loaded these boats and helped as many folk as I can. That's what matters to me now.''

I lifted his chin with my finger, making sure his eyes were focusing on me again. I just had to make sure he knew one more thing.

''I know things were strained between us, Will. But what you're doing for me now...I'll never forget it. Thank you for this.''

Across the deck, the ship's orchestra was still playing, but they had given up on their wedding waltzes by now. Instead, I could hear the strains of a piece which sounded very much like the hymn, _Nearer, My God To Thee. _The timing wasn't just ironic or coincedental; it was downright eerie. As if the cold wasn't enough to chill me to the bone.

Murdoch peered over the edge of the deck again, and took note of the situation in the water below. He was now confident that it was safe enough for me to make my getaway.

''LIGHTS!'' he hollered down to Charles Lightoller, who was struggling to organise the remaining collapsible.

Lightoller was clearly too distracted to hear.

''SECOND OFFICER LIGHTOLLER, I COMMAND YOUR ATTENTION!"

Only a brash and loud mouthed Scotsman could get anyone's attention, with all this racket and commotion going on. Lightoller looked up at his superior.

''I'M SENDING THIS LASSIE DOWN!'' Murdoch continued. ''YOU HAVE AN ORDER TO GIVE HER PRIORITY ON THE BOAT. D'YOU HEAR ME, LIGHTS?''

Lightoller signalled that he'd heard, and Murdoch turned to me again, one last time.

''Right, off you go now. That boat will have to be away from the ship soon or the suction will bring it down. Go now, Miss Monaghan!''

My heart was in my mouth. I was, quite literally, shaking from head to foot. I moved forward to Murdoch, and gave him a soft peck on his cheek. He'd deserved it, this time.

''Thank you, Will. Goodbye.''

He said nothing, but raised his hand to his forehead and regally saluted me, before giving me space to jump. I stepped forward onto the very edge of the deck, the toe ends of my boots perilously close to nothing but the fifty foot drop below. Adrenaline coursed through me once again, and I did it. I didn't even hesitate. I jumped.


	25. The Silence

_**Author's Note**: _classicmovielover will be pleased to know that Mr. Lightoller features in this chapter._  
_

Thanks as always to everyone who reads, reviews and subs - both on here and on tumblr.

* * *

_**Chapter 25: The Silence**_

_**2:10 am, approximately**  
_

I can remember my stomach dropping, as I plunged fifty feet into the sea below. I landed with an ungraceful and heavy splash, but my lifebelt held my body higher up in the water than I'd thought it would. Thank goodness for small mercies! The temperature of the water was below freezing, without a doubt. The adrenaline rush helped me to withstand this awful cold for a few short moments, as I doggy paddled rather frantically to the side of Lightoller's boat. I could see, apart from one very small space reserved for me on the bench, that the boat was full to capacity with an array of desperate and shellshocked people.

_I have to make it. I have to live. I must do this for Thomas and our child..._

There were several other people, mostly men, in the water along with me, all vying for a place on the boat. Lightoller followed Murdoch's orders by the book, and ignored the men in favour of rescuing me. I could see that he was soaking wet himself, from when he'd been thrown out of the boat in the chaos. But he was determined that I would make it to the edge, even though he was just following First Officer's orders.

''Come along, Miss Monaghan. Quickly! We need to row this boat away, _now_!"

My teeth chattered furiously as I paddled to side of the boat, and I held my hands out to him. Wasting no time, he grabbed me by the arms and hauled me over the edge, grunting with all the effort.

''I'll never forget this, Charlie,'' I told him, as I squeezed my pathetic form into the final spot on the bench. I was completely soaked to the skin, and I've never felt colder in my life than I did then. But I certainly was not the only one; all the poor souls in that boat were shivering and wet through themselves. We were like sardines in a tin, huddled together, with hardly any space between one person and the next. But it didn't seem to matter at that moment. In fact, it could only have been a good thing to share what little body heat there was, between us all.

As Lightoller and another three gentleman took the oars, I looked down at my feet and noticed that the boat had taken in some water. Whether this was due to the fact that it had already capsized and had to be turned back over again, or the stopper wasn't correctly plugged into the bottom of the boat, I wasn't sure. After another moment's thought, I believed it to be the former.

''Let's go!" Lightoller bawled to the chaps manning the other oars, and I watched them as they attempted to row in time with each other. _Oh, thank God._ We had begun to move. Slowly at first, but Lightoller and the oarsmen picked up speed with determination, knowing that the lives on this last boat depended on them.

''The suction will pull us down if we don't get the hell out of here in five minutes!" a middle-aged man seated next to me hissed, to no-one in particular. He seemed to notice that I was shivering more than some of the other folk, and he pulled a small, silver hip flask from his jacket pocket.

''There's a nip o'whiskey in there,'' he said, with a broad Dublin accent, and offered me the hip flask. ''Ye'll catch yer death if ye don't have a drink to warm ye up,''

Trying to stop my teeth from chattering, I nodded my thanks and took the flask. I unscrewed the top and swigged back a tiny amount of the ol' brown stuff, shuddering at the taste. I hated whiskey and never drank it; it was a man's tipple. But if a little drop of whiskey kept me warmer for a while, then I wasn't complaining about it. I certainly appeared to be wetter than most of the other people on this boat, including this Dublin man seated next to me. A drowned rat – that's how I must've looked to everyone else. The heavy dampness of my lifebelt didn't help, so I decided enough was enough of that thing. I undid the binds, pulled it off over my head and dropped it to my feet. I was glad to be free of it, to be honest.

''I wouldn't take it off yet if I were you,'' the Dubliner remarked.

''Hmm,'' I mumbled, handing him back his hip flask after another quick swig of whiskey .

My eyes slowly moved across to the ship, which was now about a hundred or so feet away. She was at a strange angle; the bow was more than half submerged, with the stern end visibly moving upwards into the starry night sky. All her lights were still twinkling, but her rows of portholes were clearly disappearing under the sea. The orchestra was still playing "_Nearer, My God To Thee",_ though the sound was very faint from where we were in the water. I watched in horror as people - mostly menfolk - threw themselves from the side of the deck into the sea below, crying and calling out in various foreign lingos. There were no longer any lifeboats left, and as expected, many of these men began to swim towards our boat. Oh, those poor souls. I couldn't bear to look at them struggling; my guilt was beyond comprehension. I turned my head away, and bit on my bottom lip to keep myself from sobbing. Those men just didn't stand a chance.

''So much for the unsinkable ship,'' the Dubliner sighed, looking over at what was left of _Titanic_. ''Who'd believe _now _that she'd been made by all those strong Irish hands?''

_Who indeed?_

I could do little more than nod in agreement.

''Irishmen work hard,'' the man continued to muse, as though he was thinking out loud, rather than having a conversation. "Must've been using cheap materials. Cuttin' corners!''

My ears pricked up. Was this stranger questioning my beloved's work methods?

''We hit a bloody _iceberg,_'' I reiterated, rather firmly.

''And maybe she'd have survived it if she'd been built with something stronger,'' the man carried on. ''Who knows what they used? The bloody thing shouldn't be sinking so easily! I've heard whispers about some of these shipyard workers, y'know. Cuttin' corners, I'm telling ye.''

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Who was this man, to be so forthright with his opinion? These were matters he knew nothing about. My eyes flashed red with resentment.

''Keep yer thoughts to yerself, now,'' I growled, an uncharacteristically masculine tone to my voice. ''I was staff on the ship. I know far more than you ever will!"

Of course I felt defensive. The love of my life had overseen the building of _Titanic_; from her infancy in 1908, right up until she'd taken her first baby steps on the water in 1911. He'd sacrificed a once-happy marriage with his first wife, all for this ship. His blood, his heart and his soul, were all a part of _Titanic_; both metaphorically speaking, and now in a literal sense too. And this big-mouthed man, whoever he was, was challenging Mr. Andrews' methods. His honour. Nobody did that in _my_ presence and got away with it. Nobody.

''Aye, alright,'' the man said, seemingly alarmed at my short, sharp, outburst. ''I'm just tellin' ye what I think, lass. Christ almighty! Anyone would think ye were the wifey o' one of these ship builders, the way yer carryin' on,"

Oh, that did it. I wasn't taking a cheap jab from someone who had no right to speak on these matters. I shot up from the bench with such a furious anger, quite literally rocking the boat back and forth as I did so. The other passengers let out an audible gasp as the boat quickly became unsteady.

''_Miss Monaghan_!" Lightoller barked at me, briefly losing the grip of his oar. ''Sit DOWN!"

Sheepishly, I did as I was told. The Dublin man was rather bemused, and stayed quiet for a minute or two, before realising why I'd reacted with such a passion.

''Ah. Am I right in thinking you_ are _the wifey of one o' those ship builders?''

I didn't answer. I may not have been Mr. Andrews' lawfully wedded, but I'd been as good as. He'd declared his love for me before he'd died, and I was possibly carrying his child. But nobody else on this boat had known any of these details, not even Lightoller.

I kept my eyes ahead, on the pitiful sight of _Titanic_ slipping further under the waves. My bottom lip quivered, as it dawned on me that my beloved's body had now been taken down with his mistress.

''He-he died onboard the ship this evening,'' I suddenly blurted out, unable to stop myself. ''He passed away in my arms! Are you happy now, or are you going to _keep_ upsetting me?"

Even Lightoller stopped rowing for a moment, upon hearing everything I'd just said. He was the only person on this lifeboat who'd been aware of a romantic relationship between Mr. Andrews and me.

''I'm dreadfully sorry to hear that, Miss Monaghan,'' he quietly offered, and I could see a genuine sorrow in his eyes. Then he carried on rowing, straining himself even more than before.

But I didn't cry, this time. I was too angry with the outspoken Dublin man. I reached into my water-sodden coat pocket and rummaged around for the two items I'd put in there for safe keeping; my darling's pocket watch, and his letter for Elba. The envelope felt limp and wet between my fingers, as I prised it from my pocket. My heart plunged when I saw it; the handwriting on the front had smudged beyond recognition. There was little chance that the letter inside would have fared any better against my brief encounter with the Atlantic ocean.

_Oh, Thomas. I'm so sorry…_

''This is the letter he wrote for his daughter,'' I said to the Dubliner, waving the soggy, ink streaked envelope in front of his face. ''_See_? She'll never know what's in it now. She's just a baby, for God's sake! He was leaving her his goodbyes. Look at the state of it, mister!"

The man averted his eyes from the letter to his knees, his shame blatantly obvious from that one reaction.

''I'm-I'm sorry. I had no idea.''

Shaking my head in disgust, I left the envelope on my lap to dry out in the breeze, and took Mr. Andrews' pocket watch from my coat. I opened the casing to check the time; despite its contact with the water, the watch appeared to be in full working order. The inside of the glass face had steamed up, but I could still read the numerals well enough; it was coming up to a quarter past two._ Titanic_ had only minutes left before she was to surrender to the seabed.

''Charlie, we don't have long!" I called out to Lightoller, closing the watch with twitchy fingers. ''It's almost a quarter past two now,"

The other oarsmen were struggling to row any faster, and Lightoller wasn't faring any better.

''We're doing the best we can, Miss Monaghan!" came the stiff reply, as he puffed and panted from the effort of using all his energy.

Of course, I appreciated that they were rowing to the best of their abilities; none of the men wanted to be taken down with the ship's suction. We were all in this together, and now was the time to be pulling together as a team. I decided, on the spur of the moment, to offer my services.

''Well, if you prefer,'' I began, ''I could take over one of the oars, in say...five minutes?''

Lightoller scoffed.

''We're not desperate for a woman's help just yet, Miss Monaghan."

_How rude__.__ Is now really the time for such chauvenism?_

''Oh, you think what you like, Charlie,'' I spat back. ''But I don't hear any of the other_ men_ on this boat offering you any help,"

My truthful remark immediately silenced the male tittering, while the woman across from me flashed an approving smile. The menfolk in this boat outnumbered the women by a hefty majority. There were probably four women in there at the most, including myself.

It was then that we heard two almighty, thunderous explosions coming from the direction of the ship. Everyone in the lifeboat jumped with fright, and all our eyes were on_ Titanic_, as we sailed in the opposite direction from her. My heart was in my mouth, and Lightoller seemed to confirm what I'd been thinking.

''Good Lord, the boilers have gone!"

''A very bad sign indeed,'' the Dublin man noted. ''If we can make another fifty feet in the next few minutes, we should be out of the range of the suction,''

I didn't even stop to think how this man had figured all of that out; perhaps he was no stranger to the naval industry, or maybe it was nothing more than good guesswork. But, seeing as he'd been rather vocal on the subject of _Titanic_'s structure and strength, and had mentioned the suction before, I did wonder if it was the former. Having to be seated next to this irritating know-it-all for the next three hours, would be certain to drive me round the twist!

We all watched hopelessly, as _Titanic_ began to disintegrate before our very eyes. Following the explosions from the boilers, there were loud creaking and cracking sounds, which preceded the ship's body splintering in two. The people on the boat were eerily silent, as they all stared with horror. The screeching and the shrieking from all those still onboard _Titanic,_ is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to cry at that moment. I don't know what it was that stopped me. Something made a sudden thud against the side of our boat, and this distracted me. Lightoller lept out of his bench with fright.

''Jesus Christ!" he gasped, peering over the canvas side of the boat and then shrinking down into the bench again. I had a look, and saw why he'd reacted with such shock. His oar had become tangled in the clothing of what appeared to be a man's dead body floating next to the boat; the presence of a lifebelt kept the man fairly buoyant. Lightoller grabbed his oar again, and with a pained expression on his face, shook the body free. He then nudged it away forcefully with the end of the oar.

''He won't be the only dead man ye'll be seein' on our travels to the rescue ship,'' the big mouthed Dublin man sighed. ''There might be more yet, so prepare yerselves...''

_Titanic_ gave another agonising roar from her place in the near distance, and everyone's attention turned back to her again. The screams from those onboard intensified as the ship completely snapped in two, and her stern end plunged into the icy water. My jaw dropped open at the sight of the deck disappearing down and down, in a mass of sweeping waves and white froth.

''God help them all!'' the lady across from me gasped, cupping her hands over her mouth in shock at what she'd witnessed.

The remaining section of the ship bobbed around vertically for a few moments, with people still visibly clinging on to the railings. Those poor, poor souls. Then _Titanic_ followed the rest of her body, and disappeared effortlessly into the terrifying depths of the ocean beneath her. The screams of those still hanging on chilled me to the bone. There was a low rumble all around us, vibrating through our collapsible, almost as though the sea was belching after a satisfying meal. But we, the occupants of this one remaining lifeboat, were all as quiet as little mice. We were too stunned to utter a word or make the slightest sound; it was no exaggeration to say we were all dumbstruck by what we had just seen. It took me several moments to even think, let alone feel the need to say anything aloud. The grandest ship in the world had now gone, and we'd experienced the whole frightening thing ourselves, first hand. And with her, she'd taken the love of my life. My mind turned over one more thought, as the waves and the white froth spanned across the sea, close to our boat.

_Goodbye, my dearest Thomas. I'll never let you part; for you're always in my heart._

She'd also taken my friends and people I'd become rather fond of, one of them being William McMaster Murdoch; he'd righted all his wrongs with me, in those last few hours. But she hadn't taken away my life, or the life of the possible child inside of me. I'd beaten her so far. I was the one sitting in the lifeboat, freezing cold and wet through to my skin. I was still there. Still alive. She'd swallowed so many people, but she hadn't swallowed me. I was going to live for myself, for Mr. Andrews, and for the possibility of the child he'd badly wanted.

And oddly enough, the tragedy of the _Titanic_ actually signalled the start of the rest of my life - a very different life. But things were not going to be easy for me; far, far from it. The rough would come for a long time first, before the smooth.

* * *

**Additional Author's Note**: Readers should remember that Mimi's POV predates the finding of Titanic's wreckage, so her recollection is generally her own memory and some speculation.

Credit to the late Michael Jackson for this line: '_I'll never let you part, for you're always in my heart.' ('Will You Be There')  
_


	26. We Must Stay Strong

_**Author's Note:**_ Thanks as always to all readers and reviewers.

There is still more of this story to come yet, so the sinking of the _Titanic_ is certainly not the end for Mimi. Far from it! Stay tuned for plenty more twists, turns and a lot of heartache._**  
**_

* * *

**_Chapter 26: We Must Stay Strong  
_**

There was an eerie silence in the lifeboat as Lightoller and the unnamed oarsman continued to row us away from the suction. Several pairs of eyes were focused ahead to where _Titanic_ had been, but I couldn't bear to stare at the empty space on the sea. I turned myself around in the opposite direction on the bench, to avoid the torture of seeing nothingness in place of the ship. Even the loudmouthed Dublin man next to me was lost for words. We could hear the distant cries and the frantic splashing of all those who'd ended up in the water, after the stern had disappeared below. Judging by the noise, I thought there must have been several hundred struggling for survival. I later found out that the number was closer to one thousand, five hundred tortured souls.

**...**

The silence in the boat was broken by the woman sitting across from me.

''Do you...do you think we should go back?''

The outspoken Dublin man was the first to voice his opinion on that.

''To pick up people from the water? Are you insane, young lady? This boat is full to capacity!"

''I understand,'' the woman carried on. ''though I'm sure a few more people can't hurt. I think we should turn back,''

There were murmurs of disapproval from everybody else, but Lightoller set her straight on the matter.

''With respect, miss; this boat cannot handle any extra weight. We'd sink like a stone! And even if we did have more places, there are too many people out there right now. They'd pull us under and we'd _all_ end up in the water!"

The woman's face crumpled with a look of defeat, and she lowered her head, staring down at her hands in her lap.

''Is-is there really nothing we can do?'' she asked, with a quiver in her voice. ''Even if we just-just...go back, quickly pull a couple of folks from the sea...and row away again before others swamp the boat?''

Lightoller didn't appreciate being challenged, and the irritation was all too apparent in his eyes. He let go of his oar for a moment and glared directly at her.

''Are you_ deaf_, miss? Do I have to repeat every bloody thing I say? We cannot go back there, and that's an _end_ to it!"

I shook my head at him, showing my displeasure over his tone and his less than tactful choice of words.

''Charlie, please! There's no need to be insulting. This lady's just trying to help!''

Lightoller grunted and continued to row, saying nothing more. Of course, he was right, and so was the annoying Dublin man. Turning back and attempting to save even a couple of people from the water would have been suicidal for us to do. There were already enough people in our little canvas boat, and any more would've spelled the end for us all. But I admired the woman's concern for others. _Somebody_ had to show compassion; though I'm sure the majority thought she was little more than an overly emotional female.

**...**

It was so bitterly cold, as we bobbed along on the water. At times, we were battered by waves. Other times, the sea was more forgiving. Lightoller and the other chaps rowed continuously through the expanse of sea, for a good hour or so, without stopping. The water was littered with ice, which was visible on the surface. There were icebergs close by, and most of them seemed to be smaller than the one_ Titanic_ had collided with. It had been quite tricky for Lightoller and the other oarsmen to manoeuvre the boat through them, but they did so with great caution. Everyone's hearts were in their mouths until we were clear of the ice.

My lips, my fingers and my toes were all completely numb by now. All of the lifeboat's occupants were shivering. I didn't know how much longer we'd be on the water, rowing to nowhere, but I knew we would be there for quite some time yet. The Dublin man again offered me his hip flask, and I took another sip or two of whiskey. It gave the lining of my stomach some much needed warmth; at least, on the inside. On the outside, my body was still frozen. I rubbed my hands to create a much needed friction, but this had barely made a difference to my poor fingers.

The boat's inhabitants began to huddle together very closely, sharing what little body heat there was between us all. None of us would've ever dared to do such a thing, if we'd not been out there on the North Atlantic in a waterlogged lifeboat. Sadly, one of the male inhabitants had to be pushed overboard. What a dreadful fate for the poor chap, after surviving the initial sinking of the ship! It appeared that he had succumbed to hypothermia. Oh, I felt wretched for him. He was just another man with a family, like everybody else there. But it would've been undignified for him to still be in the boat with us, when he was already gone. A prayer was said, before the Dublin man and another gentleman hauled his body over the side, where it splashed into the bitter ocean and slowly disappeared. The woman across from me - the brave lass who'd suggested going back for people - sobbed quietly to herself, though loud enough for me to hear her.

Lightoller and the other oarsman finally took a well earned rest and passed their oars to other male volunteers. I'd kept Mr. Andrews' pocket watch in my hand for most of my duration on the lifeboat; I wasn't letting go of it, not even to put it back in my coat. Holding onto it gave me the tiniest bit of comfort. Every half hour or so, I'd open it up to see how many minutes had passed since I'd last looked. We were far away from_ Titanic_'s death place when the emotional woman asked me for the time. With the help of our lamplight, I could just about make out the numerals behind the foggy glass. It was now half past three in the morning. The watch was still in working order, at least.

''We've been in this boat for almost an hour and a half,'' I told her, absent mindedly playing with the watch chain between my thumb and index finger. ''It's just gone half past three, now,''

She nodded at me and pulled her shawl further around her shoulders, bracing herself against the biting wind around us.

''We need to stay strong,'' I continued, trying my best to be reassuring. ''We've already made it this far!"

''Miss Monaghan is right,'' Lightoller chipped in, rubbing at his newly calloused hands. ''None of us should be giving up. We may have another hour or two out here yet. It might even be longer, depending on when the rescue vessel finds us,''

There were groans from nearly everyone else on the boat. I stayed silent, and the Dublin man was the only other person not to complain. It was natural that those who didn't find Lightoller's prediction surprising, were those who knew something about life at sea. I had a strong feeling that the Dublin man knew more than he was letting on. I was huddled against him for nothing more than body heat to keep me warm, but there was something I just didn't like about him. Something more than the arrogance and the big mouth. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was, but during our time together on the boat, I'd become rather uneasy about the man's presence. My gut instinct had told me not to trust him. At this moment, however, keeping warm enough to stave off hypothermia was my bigger priority.

**...**

We must've drifted for another two hours out on the sea. The sun was coming up through the clouds; a beautiful horizon of pinks, yellows and oranges. We'd gone through three sets of oarsman, all working hard to keep us afloat. The Dublin man and the emotional woman had both stayed pensive and quiet for the rest of our journey. Elba's letter was still positioned in my lap, and had more or less dried out in the chilly breeze. But her father's handwriting was now completely illegible, so I wouldn't even know where on earth to send it any more. Water damaged or not, I knew I had to get that letter to Elba somehow. Her father's pocket watch was beginning to warm up in my hand; I hadn't let go of the damned thing in all of my time on that boat. I had very little to show from my brief relationship with Thomas Andrews, but his watch was something I was already emotionally attached to.

Many of us had been drifting in and out of drowsy states of lethargy, when Charles Lightoller shouted us all into a state of wakening.

_''Oh, thank God! Everybody, look!"_

There were sleepy murmurs from various occupants, as I opened my own weary eyes and saw Lightoller standing upright in our boat. I had to look twice to fully believe why he had suddenly got up from his bench. There was something in the distance, visible on the dawn horizon. It wasn't a mirage or a delusion. He could see it, and I could see it.

''Is...is that the rescue ship?'' I gasped.

Lightoller looked down at me, his eyes sparkling. There was such a smile expanding over his face; in the six months I had served for the White Star Line, I had never once seen him smile. The jubilant expression on his face was quite something to behold!

''I believe it is, Miss Monaghan,'' he answered me, reaching over to the side of the boat to fetch the tin of emergency flares. It had been attached to the underside of one of the benches, and appeared to have survived reasonably intact. I'd hoped that the flares were now dry enough to be lit.

All ears pricked up as the excitement rippled across the boat. Lightoller lit up one of the handheld flares and waved it around in the air above him.

''By my estimation, the ship looks to be about fifteen to twenty minutes away,'' the Dublin man perked up, squinting his eyes towards the image in the near distance. ''Looks like we're going make it, everybody!"

A cheer erupted from every person in our little boat, including my good self. I couldn't believe it; I really couldn't! We were coming through the first part of this horrendous nightmare, and we were all alive and well. Only one occupant hadn't been so lucky, God rest his soul. But everyone else - all thirty of us - had been given another chance. I clutched Mr. Andrews' pocket watch tightly in my hand, and squeezed my eyes shut for a few moments.

_We're going to be safe and sound, my darling Thomas. Safe and sound._


	27. You Can't Hide From Me

**(Thanks to all readers and reviewers!)**

* * *

**_Chapter 27: You Can't Hide From Me_  
**

The mood on our little boat had changed dramatically since Lightoller first spotted the rescue vessel on the dawn horizon. Spirits had risen and smiles were everywhere to be seen. The anxiety and hopelessness had faded, now that we were on the verge of being saved. Three hours of aimless rowing through the North Atlantic would not be in vain! But there was a bittersweet undertone to our newfound joy. Many of us had just lost loved ones, and the shock of the night's events had numbed all of our senses. We had yet to begin grieving for our deceased.

The irritating Dublin man smiled down at me, a mischievous expression on his face. Now that daylight was just about upon us, I could see his appearance much more clearly. Dark brown eyes and silver, wavy hair; he was really rather decent looking, even if he was quite dislikeable in character. But his distinguished appearance jarred me; he reminded me of an older version of someone I'd known very well: _Mr. Andrews_. The man's eyes were eerily similar, and so was his mouth shape. Perhaps I was seeing things, what with my lethargy and the fact that I had been on the go for nineteen hours. I decided to put the likeness down to my own possible delirium. I'd be seeing Mr. Andrews' face in the patterns on the sea, at this rate!

''You know, we've been sittin' on this boat for all this time and I still didn't catch yer name,'' the man chuckled at me.

I pointed to myself.

''_My_ name?''

He nodded, raising an eyebrow.

''I'm not lookin' at anyone else, am I?''

My eyes darted from his face to my knees, and back again. I was slightly embarrassed. This man had tried my patience all night, and hadn't bothered with names _once_.

''Um, well, it's Mimi.''

I'm not even sure why I gave him an answer. Maybe I should've lied and given myself an alias.

''_Mimi_?'' he repeated.

I felt my cheeks flush; the first time any part of my body had radiated with warmth for hours.

''Look, mister,'' I continued abruptly, ''I'm tired and I'm not really interested in small talk.''

He put his hands up, defensively.

''Alright, love! I only asked because you're definitely familiar. I can see yer face better now that we have some light. I passed you out on the promenade a couple of times. On the _Titanic_, I mean. You were with someone.''

I rolled my eyes and looked over to the horizon, wondering if there was a point to all of this.

''I'm a stewardess. Hundreds of bloody people on the _Titanic_ saw me!"

The man lowered his voice quite considerably.

''Well, dear...let's just say ye weren't cleaning floors or serving cups o' tea.''

His thinly veiled jab took me by surprise, and I slowly turned my head to meet his eyes. My heart started to pound.

''I beg your pardon? What exactly are you _implying_, mister?''

He looked at the pocket watch still in my grasp.

''It seems we may have more in common than you realise, Mimi.''

I really didn't understand! My patience was wearing thin with this man, once again. As increasing confusion swept over me, I shook my head and fixed him an agitated glare.

''Why don't you just tell me_ who _you are and what you _think _you saw me doing?''

The man smirked, and I noticed the corner of his top lip curling upwards. Mr. Andrews had a similar quirk, which I'd found attractive and endearing. This physical likeness was unnerving me, which didn't help my gut feeling about such an obnoxious man.

''Ack, come on now, young lady. I know what I saw,'' he said, matter-of-factly. ''The name's Donahue, by the way,''

I shrugged my shoulders. The name didn't ring any bells.

''_Jonathan_ Donahue?'' the man offered further, noting the blank expression on my face.

No, I'd never seen him before and I didn't know of his name. There must've been a thousand Jonathan Donahues back home in Ireland. It was hardly an uncommon moniker there.

''I'm sorry, I just don't know who you are,'' I sighed, feeling more than slightly exasperated with this Mr. Donahue's riddles. It was neither the time nor the place to be taking part in mind games!

Mr. Donahue narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, his brow creasing into a frown. He swallowed hard, then his face softened. Casually, he swept his hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on me. The moment was awkward.

''I suppose some people really _do_ take these things to the grave with them,'' he remarked, cryptically. There was an element of surprise in his voice.

I was still no wiser than I had been before. I didn't have the faintest idea what Mr. Donahue was alluding to.

''Are you in the naval industry, Mr. Donahue?'' I asked, going back to my original line of thinking.

He gave another smirk.

''I_ was_ a sailor, many years ago. I'm currently employed with an unassociated...organisation. Young lady, considering the company you've been keeping, I'm shocked at how little you seem to know!"

I was fed up with this, now. This nonsense had gone on for long enough! The love of my life had died in my arms several hours before, and I didn't need to think about anything else. I wasn't in the mood for Mr. Donahue's continuous barrage of questions and strange riddles. Why would I know anything about _him_? He was coming across as self important; a narcissist. All of this incessant yakking on about himself! He'd been a complete stranger to me, until three hours previously. He was just another passenger who'd been lucky enough to grab a seat on the very last lifeboat. I didn't care a jot about who he was! He could've been The King Of The World, for all I'd cared.

''_Mr. Don-a-hue_,'' I sighed, exaggerating the syllables of his name. ''I don't know who you are or what I'm supposed to know about you! All I want is to be left alone. My fiance is dead! I-I need time to gather my thoughts together. I hope...you can understand this,''

The man opened his mouth as if to reply, but he said nothing. Instead, he clenched his teeth and nodded his head slowly, making sure he held my gaze for an extra moment or two. He seemed pensive.

''Of course,'' he murmured, before moving his eyes to the ship on the horizon. Then he stayed completely silent.

Inside my mind, I was screaming.

_Who in heaven's name are you? I don't understand this! What do you want with me? _

I needed an answer, preferably sooner rather than later. This Jonathan Donahue was a strange character; he clearly thought he knew something about me, and that I should know something about him. I hated feeling as though I'd been watched; spied on, even! But this was not the time for such personal drama. I shifted nervously on the bench, leaning my body to the side, away from Mr. Donahue's direct vicinity and closer to the man next to me. I'd been uncomfortable in Mr. Donahue's presence for the whole three hours on the boat, but now, my nerves were shot to pieces. I didn't need additional stress on top of everything else.

Mr. Andrews' pocket watch had warmed up considerably in my hand, and I carried on gripping it tightly. Not only was I emotionally attached to the watch, but I believed it was a lucky charm for me as well. I squeezed my eyes shut for a brief moment, and made a wish.

_Please get me through this, Thomas. Help me stay strong._

_**...**_

I was so tired that I wasn't sure whether the rescue vessel was sailing towards us, or if _we_ were sailing towards_ it_. Or maybe it was both, which was also possible. Lightoller had set off all the flares he could find, and there seemed to be no more left. Not that we'd even needed them any more, as luck would have it. The ship was close to us, and we could see various crew members preparing to take us onboard.

''It's the _Carpathia!_" Lightoller shouted, nodding his head triumphantly. ''I thought the _Californian_ would find us first, but not to worry. We're safe, ladies and gentlemen. Keep your lifebelts on as a precaution!"

I looked at the soggy life preserver lying in the puddle by my feet, and decided against putting the thing back on for the sake of a minute's climb to safety. The lifebelt had served me well, but I felt that I didn't need it any more. I did, however, slip Mr. Andrews' pocket watch into my coat pocket for safe keeping. I'd kissed the gold outer casing first, which drew the attention of Mr. Donahue next to me. He made no comment, but his eyes were on me. I didn't give a damn. All I could think of was getting onto the_ Carpathia_ and finding a steward to give me a steaming hot cup of tea, to warm my frozen body up. All the more horrific thoughts of the recent events, would have to come after that. It was the only way my mind would survive this ordeal.

Once our little lifeboat was within close proximity to the _Carpathia_, our final task was to scale the rope ladder hanging over the side of the ship's deck. Thankfully, the _Carpathia_ was nowhere near as large and intimidating as the _Titanic_. There was a shorter climb up, rather than a longer drop down. She was far less spectacular, in scale and in grandeur, than the _Titanic_. But navigating the ladder would still prove to be rather tricky; everybody's hands and feet were almost completely numbed from the cold. The four women of the boat, myself included, had been allowed to go up first. The men followed us, afterward. I can remember stumbling onto the _Carpathia_'s busy promenade deck, which was already swarming with survivors picked up from many of the other boats. But I'd had a feeling, despite the number of lost and disoriented passengers around me, that not all of the boats had been found yet. A _Carpathia_ steward, armed with a pile of blankets, spotted me and politely offered me one. I gladly accepted it and wrapped it around my shoulders, relieved that I finally had something warm to snuggle into. I'd been wearing water-sodden clothes for hours, and I don't know how I'd got away from the boat without frostbite or hypothermia setting in.

I surveyed my surroundings aboard this less extravagant ship, and watched as staff and crew fussed around _Titanic_'s brave survivors. There were many more women and children than men, but under the circumstances, it was to be expected. I spotted a wooden bench across the deck, and walked towards it to grab a seat. I needed to sort myself out, and to take some time to reflect on everything that had been happening. However, I only got halfway over when I heard a familiar Dublin accent from behind. _Him again._

''Mimi?'' Mr. Donahue called out after me.

I turned on my heel and shook my head, making damn sure he knew of my displeasure at being followed. Daylight was now completely upon us, and I noted the muck and dirt ingrained on the fabric of his dress shirt, and the ripped seams of his black tuxedo jacket.

''I warned you, Mr. Donahue!" I told him, firmly. ''I wish to be left _alone,_''

The man towered over me. He was as tall as Mr. Andrews had been.

''I understand, young lady, but there is something we need to discuss,'' he insisted.

I was exhausted. There was literally no fight left in me any more. Surely, he must've seen it in my face! I'd been to hell and back, and all this man wanted to do was interrogate me for reasons I wasn't even clear about. My beloved Mr. Andrews had been dead for four hours and I needed to _cry_, for heaven's sake. I needed to let the emotion out, for once and for all. I'd held everything inside, for the sake of my own survival. And I'd made it - I was alive, and now I was safe. But I couldn't even have my own private moment to break down and weep, because this strange, silver haired man was obsessing over me. It may have been rude of me to do so, but I pointed my finger directly in his face and snapped at him.

''Look, I don't know why you're so interested in me!"

Mr. Donahue cautiously glanced over his shoulders, and gestured for me to sit with him on the bench.

''Why should I sit with you again?'' I asked, refusing to move. ''Three hours in that lifeboat were quite enough!"

The man heaved a sigh, his chest rising and falling slowly.

''Because I think you need to know a few things. I used to be a close_ associate, _shall we say, of your sadly deceased gentleman friend.''

My eyes widened. This man couldn't have known Mr. Andrews' identity, could he?

''And who do you believe my gentleman friend _was_?'' I asked, probably sounding over-confident.

''Ah, come on now, young lady. I'm a man o' the world,'' Mr. Donahue replied with a smile. ''I _know_ who he was,''

I shook my head and walked away, in the opposite direction to the bench. I didn't want to be around this obnoxious piece of goodness knows what. Enough was enough. My head was all over the place, and I needed to grieve for the loss of my beloved Mr. Andrews.

Mr. Donahue caught my arm, and the blanket around my shoulders fell to the floor. My heart began to pound hard; this man was scaring me, and I felt that my personal safety was possibly at risk.

''Let_ go_ of me, Mr. Donahue, or I'll scream!'' I told him, loudly enough for other people to hear.

He loosened his grip on my sleeve, then dropped his hand from my arm. Again, he looked over his shoulders, then lowered his voice to speak.

''I'm not wrong, Mimi. I know more than you think I do! You can't hide from me. The man you were having an affair with?''

He paused for dramatic effect, clearly attempting to intimidate me. Then he finished.

_''_That man_, _was_ Thomas Andrews_.''

* * *

**Author's Ending Note: **

Jonathan Donahue's distinguished looks, age and temperament are all borrowed from Victor Garber's character in _ALIAS_, Jack Bristow. Thankfully, Mr. Donahue doesn't quite feel the need to torture people and blow their heads off! Yes, I've been unashamedly obsessing over _ALIAS, _years after everyone else_._ Better late than never! The name 'Jonathan Donahue' is a wonderfully Irish name, but is ALSO a nod to Jack Bristow - the character's full name in the show was _Jonathan Donahue Bristow_. It was too good to pass up!


	28. A Troublemaker's Persistence

Thanks as always to all readers and reviewers!

* * *

**_Chapter 28: A Troublemaker's Persistence  
_**

My jaw dropped open that instant. I couldn't believe this man's audacity to say such a thing! How was it any of his business, anyway? My relationship with Mr. Andrews had been private, for the most part, and the reasons for that were self explanitory. I can't speak for Mr. Andrews, but _I'd_ stopped considering it an 'affair' when he'd told me of his plans to see a barrister for a divorce. We would've revealed our love officially, when the time was right. As it was, the only people who'd known about us were the ship's staff and crew, and a select few others. We'd attended the dinner party involving the DeWitt Bukaters, Ismay and the rest, as an 'engaged' couple - even though our 'engagement' had been ficticious at first . But considering _Titanic_ had given bed and board to over two thousand passengers, we'd been careful to keep our relationship low key. We hadn't wanted to to invite the disapproving glares and whispers of the judgemental. The time to go public was something we would've discussed, if Mr. Andrews had lived.

But perhaps we hadn't been as careful on _Titanic_ as we thought we'd been. Despite my reddening face telling Mr. Donahue that he was correct, my initial reaction was to deny everything.

''Where did you get this nonsense from?'' I scoffed, shaking my head. ''I was _not_ having an affair with Thomas Andrews. He was a married man! What sort of woman do you think I am?"

Mr. Donahue raised an eyebrow. Oh, he knew I was desperately covering my tracks. He opened his mouth to speak, and waited for a moment as a handful of passengers from another lifeboat walked by. Then he said something which was actually rather prolific.

''Mimi - if ye can't be honest with a stranger, then at least be honest with yerself,''

Prolific, yes. My relationship with Mr. Andrews, being this man's business? No, certainly not.

''I don't have to listen to this,'' I said, bending over to retrieve my blanket from the floor. I wrapped it around my shoulders tightly and covered my arms this time, so that Mr. Donahue had no more opportunities to grab my elbows when I walked away. ''Leave me alone, Mr. Donahue.''

Again, I started down the deck, deliberately picking up pace.

''Would ye like me to air yer dirty linen out in public, young lady?'' he called out after me.

I stopped, then whirled around. My eyes were wide and my jaw was clenched. I was apprehensive and my heart hadn't stopped thumping since Mr. Donahue had followed me out there.

''I've _nothing_ to hide,'' I hissed, my teeth gritted firmly.

Mr. Donahue casually sauntered over to me, flashing an unnerving smile before his expression changed to one of pity.

''Oh, dear girl,'' he sighed. His voice had softened from the more threatening tone he'd used before. ''I feel wretched for you, I truly do. I fear Tommie boy took an interest in the first pretty lady who turned his head after Helen left him,''

_Helen. _In the short time I'd been with him, Mr. Andrews had never once mentioned his wife by her first name. I hadn't needed him to tell me why; I'd already known, without even asking him. Mistress and wife were two separate worlds that would never collide. I hadn't heard a single soul mention her by name, until now.

My face crumpled. Whoever this man was, he knew something _I_ didn't know. I swallowed hard and attempted to blink back the tears I could feel welling in my eyes. I needed to grieve for the man I loved, but Mr. Donahue was throwing so many obstacles in my way. For whatever reason, he just wouldn't let me be.

''What do you _want_ with me?'' I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion. I must've looked a tired and vulnerable mess by this point. I needed food and sleep. I'm sure there were dark circles under my eyes, and the light breeze had blown stray, messy curls over my face.

''Oh, my problem is not with _you_, young lady,'' Mr. Donahue said, by way of an explanation. I'd thought he might elaborate on this, but he didn't. His statement only served to confuse me even more. I inhaled deeply through my nose, and released my breath slowly, before mustering up the courage to be firm with him once again.

''Before Thomas died, he told me I was his guardian angel...and that he loved me. I wasn't just some 'passing fancy', Mr. Donahue! We planned on starting a new life, away from Befast. You have no right to make assumptions on something you know nothing about.''

The man raised his eyebrows, giving the impression that he didn't seem completely convinced.

''Well, I'm sure he wanted you to believe that,'' he said, fixing his eyes on mine. ''But Tom was never one for courting, even before he met Helen.''

I frowned and waved my hands dismissively in front of me. I needed this man to slow down.

''Wait, wait...I don't understand. You said you were an _associate_ of Thomas's?''

He nodded his head.

''Indeed I was. I'm a wee bit older than Tom, but I knew his family. He always loved his boats,''

Mr. Donahue paused for a moment, and again gestured for me to sit on the bench. I didn't hesitate, this time. I needed to get to the bottom of it all. I sat down first and Mr. Donahue followed, leaving a more respectful gap between us than there had been on the lifeboat.

''I'm disappointed in Tom,'' Mr. Donahue carried on. ''For someone so dedicated to the job, it seems he let his men use the cheapest materials to save a few wee pounds! And _this_ is where we are now,''

He swept his hand out in front of him to illustrate his point.

''Many are dead, Mimi. And the rest of us are sittin' here in nothing but the clothes on our backs!''

Was this man deliberately trying to get a rise out of me? And I was taking the bait, like the gullible fool I was.

''Whether you knew him or not, Mr. Donahue - I won't allow anyone to talk about my Thomas like that. What happened to the ship wasn't his fault!"

''Hitting that 'berg wasn't,'' the man chuckled, a hint of irony lacing his tone. ''But cutting the expenses didn't help matters..."

I was furious now. Mr. Andrews had been dead little more than a few hours and this so-called 'associate' of his was already dragging his name through the mud! I wasn't having it. I stood up from the bench and let him have the full force of my wrath.

''I don't want to hear this nonsense any more. You stay _well_ away from me!'' I shouted at the top of my voice. ''And I will not have you talk about a good man like that. How _dare_ you, Mr. Donahue? I don't know who you really are, but you're an atrocious excuse for a man!''

Well! All he could do was smile. The nerve of the man! This awful troublemaker wasn't even taking me seriously. He ignored me and continued on with his astonishing ramblings.

''Ye know, a couple o' days ago, I heard something on the grapevine...whispers about an engagement between Tom and a maid on the ship. I couldn't believe it. Respectable Tommie boy and a maid_, engaged to be married_? Most folk thought the news came from a bunch old fishwives, gossiping and spreading terrible rumours!"

I was shaking now, but not with cold this time; with anger. I should've walked away, and I don't know why I didn't. Mr. Donahue stood up, as I had just done. His brown eyes glinted in the yellow morning sun, and again I was taken aback by his resemblance to Mr. Andrews. It was incredibly unnerving for me to see, and it didn't seem to be a figment of my imagination after all.

''But I knew the rumours were true when I saw yous together,'' he rattled on. ''Tom gave ye his coat the other night, on the deck. Ye must've been chilly out there at that late hour! And I saw you last night when the ship was sinking. Yous were havin' a right old barney. You've got a fine set of lungs on ye, Mimi! I heard what ye said about the, er...''

His eyes briefly shifted down my form, to my waist area. I gave an audible gasp as I realised his implication. He'd heard me telling Mr. Andrews that I'd thought I was expecting!

''That is absolutely none of your business!" I told him firmly, glancing over my shoulders for passers by.

''Ack, I feel sorry for you, lass. Yer in a right pickle now, eh?'' Mr. Donahue sighed, with pity. ''In the family way on top of everything else! I don't know what promises Tom made you, but he would never divorce his lady wife. Not even after she hurt him badly! He didn't want to become a...social pariah, I suppose you could say. He didn't want his place in the community to be affected. He was not a believer in divorce, dear!''

I wasn't listening to any more. I'd quite honestly had enough, and I needed to get away from that man. I still didn't know who he was or why he was telling me all these things, but I knew his intentions were not honourable. He was trouble. Without another word to him, I stormed off down the deck, weaving in and out between dazed passengers rescued from the other lifeboats. Footsteps followed me, and I began to panic.

''Wait a minute, lass!" he called out after me, but I didn't want to be around him any more. In my bid to get away, I clumsily slammed into another gentleman.

''I'm terribly sorry!" I said quickly, but then I stopped for a moment when I realised who he was. The chap was looking bewildered. Lost. Broken, even. His dark and usually immaculate hair was limp and hanging over his forehead, and his tuxedo jacket was ripped to shreds.

_Caledon Hockley._

He narrowed his eyes as he looked back at me.

''Miss Monaghan?'' he whispered, slowly taking a moment to recognise me.

I nodded, and then I realised he was standing there completely on his own. No Rose, no valet, no Ruth DeWitt Bukater.

''What about Rose?'' I asked him, gently.

His face dropped further.

''I-I haven't seen her. I've been looking for her. If you see her, would you kindly-?''

''Of course,'' I jumped in, before he could finish.

He looked to the floor with an air of sadness about him, and gave me a barely audible 'thank you'. Then he strolled away again, in a zombie-like state. For a minute or so, I watched him go. I'd never seen Hockley like that before; it proved to me that even the most arrogant of men were human inside. After he'd disappeared from my view, I turned my head to look over my shoulder and got the fright of my life. I literally jumped out of my skin when I saw that Mr. Donahue was there, standing right behind me.

''I didn't mean to startle ye, young lady," he chirped, giving an irritating smirk. Oh, how I'd wished to wipe that right off his face.

''If you don't let me be, I'll have a steward remove you!" I said quickly, putting my hands up.

''Oh, don't be like that,'' he replied casually. ''Why can't we try to be friends, eh?''

The stress and the exhaustion were getting to me. That all too familiar weepy feeling was coming on, and I couldn't hold the tears in for much longer.

''I don't _wish _to be your friend! Now please, just leave me alone_,_" I told him for the last time, my voice quivering. The tears escaped as I spoke, gently trickling down my cheeks and the bridge of my nose.

''Alright,'' Mr. Donahue agreed, much to my surprise. ''I'll let ye be, for now. But ye'll see me again, I can guarantee ye that. Thomas Andrews was a hypocrite, and you're_ going_ to know the truth. Have yerself a good morning now, Mimi,''

He gave me one more look, his eyes staring intensely into mine. Then he turned on his heel and walked back in the direction he'd come from, through the crowds and out of my sight. I stood there on my own for a good two or three minutes, trying to absorb everything he'd said to me. My darling Mr. Andrews, a hypocrite? And what was I going to know 'the truth' about? I still couldn't understand why this man had become so interested in me, or why he'd been watching me with Mr. Andrews. Perhaps he'd been some sort of private detective? Or maybe he'd had a more sinister motive; could he have been a spy? I didn't know if I should believe his story about being an associate. But I did know that he'd watched us when we'd been together, and the mere idea chilled to the bone.

Out there on the _Carpathia_'s promenade deck after Mr. Donahue's departure, my tears were still flowing. To comfort myself, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out Mr. Andrews' watch. Instinctively, I flipped it open to observe the time. The glass was still foggy, but I could make out the numerals reasonably well. According to the watchface, it was half past three in the morning, which was obviously incorrect. Half past three was the last time I'd looked at the watch, in the lifeboat. More than two hours had passed since then! I began to sob even harder when the realisation hit me: Mr. Andrews' beloved pocket watch had stopped. It might not have seemed like a big deal to anyone else, but it was to me. He'd entrusted me with that watch, and it was my lucky charm. I was heartbroken, knowing that it had malfunctioned in _my_ pocket. The fact that the mechanism must've been full of water, hadn't even entered my head. I just blamed myself! But I knew that not all would be lost, and the timepiece would surely be easily mended. All I'd needed to do was find a watchmaker's or a jeweller's shop, on dry land. Quite simple, really. That didn't help how I was feeling as I stood there weeping on the _Carpathia_, though.

And that was all I did - weep. I put the watch back in my pocket and sank to my knees in the middle of the deck, with people swerving to avoid me. The tears were pouring down my face, dripping from my chin and splashing onto my clothes. I wished for Mr. Andrews to be there, with me. I wanted his arms to hold me tightly. Oh heavens, I missed him. I missed him so terribly. What was I going to do without him? How could I function, now that the love of my life was dead? I didn't know. I started to consider that I'd made the wrong decision in getting on that lifeboat. My thoughts, irrational though they may have seemed, whirled around in my mind.

_I should've stayed with his body and gone down with the ship. How can I have been so stupid, allowing myself to be rescued? _

_What if I'm not even expecting a child? Will there be anything left for me to live for?_

All those dreadfully morbid thoughts, filling my head as I sobbed on my knees on the dirty floor. But I couldn't help the way I was feeling; I was estranged from my parents and I had very few friends back at home in Belfast. Now I had no employment, no money and no man to share my life with. I was destitute. All I could feel was an overwhelming sense of hopelessness, taking a brutal grasp of me. I didn't know how I was going to come through the other end of this grief.


	29. Returning The Honour

(Thanks to all readers and reviewers).

* * *

**_Chapter 29: Returning The Honour_  
**

I awoke with a start and tried to focus my bleary eyes. At first, I wasn't sure where I was; I was quite disorientated for a moment or two. But there was a breeze in my face, and I remembered that I was still outside on the promenade deck of the _Carpathia_. I'd taken refuge on one of the empty benches, lying down on my side with my blanket wrapped around me. I must've been asleep for a little longer than I'd thought.

I sat up gradually and stretched my legs out in front of me, politely stifling a yawn from behind my hand. _This is rather odd_, I'd thought to myself, as I noted that the deck appeared to be deserted now. It had been crowded with passengers rescued from the lifeboats, and most of those people seemed to have disappeared. They'd probably retreated to the inside of the ship instead, which is where I should've been myself! I gathered the blanket around my shoulders and stood up from the bench. The ship's engines were vibrating beneath my feet, and I could sense that we were still in motion. We clearly hadn't reached our destination yet. My stomach was growling and my mouth was dry; I needed something to eat, and a nice hot drink. I planned for my next stop to be a cafeteria or a restaurant indoors, but I didn't know the layout of the _Carpathia_. I remembered that the staff had been handing out free food and drink to passengers picked up from the _Titanic_, so I was sure it wouldn't be difficult to find someone who could help me.

As I started to walk in the direction of the bridge, my attention was caught by a man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. It was odd, because he certainly hadn't been there a minute ago! He was twenty feet away, with his back to me, resting his elbows on the railings while looking out over the sea. He was a tall chap with wide shoulders, and he wore a heavy black overcoat down to his knees. From behind, he could've been Mr. Andrews. But of course, I knew he wasn't. I sighed and focused ahead of me again, continuing in the opposite direction. A gentle male voice called out after me.

''_Mimi_?"

I stopped where I was and looked over to where the voice had come from. He sounded familiar. The blood drained from my face and the blanket dropped from my shoulders. This just wasn't possible...

''Mimi!" he shouted again, and ran towards me, the tails of his coat billowing out behind him.

Oh my Lord, what was I seeing? _Who_ was I seeing? My hands began to tremble and I felt goosebumps spreading all over my body.

He pulled me into his arms and embraced me tightly. All I could do was I freeze, unable to reciprocate his embrace or say a word.

''It's alright, m'dear,'' he sighed, holding my head against his chest. ''It's alright,''

I recognised his scent, and the smell of his cologne. Confused and frightened, I pulled my head back to look at him. Goodness gracious, surely my eyes were decieving me? But he was there, and he looked perfect_._ Just perfect! Immaculately groomed in every way, just as I had seen him every day for six months. His curly hair was swept to the side, his overcoat was dry and clean, his waistcoat underneath was pressed. And his dress shirt was a pristine white, with the wingtip collar rigidly starched under his navy tie. There was even a watch chain, dangling from his waistcoat pocket. His skin was a healthy tanned colour and his hazel eyes were sparkling. He gave a gentle but quirky smile, melting my heart in seconds. But I couldn't hide how stunned I really was.

''This... this is madness!" I gasped, raising my hands to my cheeks with the shock of it all. ''You're not here. You _died_, Thomas!"

He ignored me and took a hold of my elbows. His smile began to fade, and he gave me a look of concern.

''Mimi, you _must _stay away from Jonathan Donahue,'' he warned, searching my eyes from one to the other. ''Don't go anywhere near that man. He holds a grudge against me and he'll use you to get what he wants.''

I nodded, though I was unable to comprehend that Thomas Andrews was right there in front of me, holding me and talking to me. He'd passed away six hours before. This was not even remotely possible.

''_Promise_ me you'll stay away from that man!" he said, his voice much louder this time.

''I promise,'' I whispered. But I couldn't take any of it in. ''Thomas, you died in my arms!"

Again, he ignored my statement. He lifted his hand to my face and traced his fingertips tenderly across the outline of my cheekbone, down to my lips. I drew in a short, sharp breath and tipped my head back, closing my eyes for the briefest moment. My body begin to sway, and he put his arm around my back to steady me.

''You must take care of yourself and the little 'un, d'you understand?'' he told me in a calm, but firm, tone. ''I'll do my best to watch you and protect you when I can, but I can't be there all the time. I have to be there for Elba, too,''

I swallowed hard and felt warm tears beginning to well in my eyes. I didn't know what to think! This man was _dead_, for pity's sake. His heart had stopped at just before two o'clock this morning. Surely, this was ludicrous.

''I don't-I'm not... Thomas, what the hell is going _on_?''

Another question ignored. He slid a hand under my still-damp coat and rested his palm on my belly. I knew why; he didn't have to say the words. He clasped my waist with his other hand.

''Rose is here on this ship, Mimi,'' he said, his voice rising in pitch. ''She survived by the skin of her teeth, thank God! I've spoken to her. I want you to find her, and you two ladies _must_ to stick together,''

I said nothing, but I was listening. After a brief pause, he continued, his eyes fixed on mine with every word he spoke.

''No harm can come to you if you stay together. When this vessel docks at the harbour, stay with each other at all times. Do _not_ let Jonathan Donahue catch up with you. Is that understood, Mimi?''

All I could do was nod to confirm that I'd heard everything he'd said.

His shoulders rose and fell as he gave a long, heavy sigh. He dropped his hands from my waist, and reached into his waistcoat pocket for his pocket watch. I frowned, perplexed. Of course, he'd given me his watch before he'd died, and it was still in my overcoat. Perhaps he'd owned a spare, but I'd never seen him with two before. He'd only ever mentioned the one I'd now had in my possession. It was all quite strange. He flipped open the case with a casual motion of his thumb, observed the time, and closed the watch over again. Slipping it back under his coat, he tilted his head to the side, looking apologetic.

''I need to be somewhere else now, Mimi,'' he murmured. ''Just remember to follow my instructions. If Mr. Donahue causes you harm, I will never forgive myself. He's a man you cannot trust!''

I grabbed his hands, squeezing them tightly. I needed to know why he was there, for goodness sake. He'd died in my arms last night in the smoking room! It was an impossibility for him to be standing there, as clear as day.

''Why haven't you answered my question, Thomas?'' I demanded, trying to be firm.

''I'm _sorry_, Mimi,'' he whispered, slipping his hands out of mine. There were tears brimming in his eyes. ''I don't have the answer you want to hear.''

I didn't even know what that meant, and I realised it would be pointless asking him to explain any more. It seemed he had no intention of telling me, for whatever reason. He kissed my forehead softly, his lips lingering on my skin for a moment. Then he stepped back.

''Remember what I said to you before, darlin'? In the smoking room... ''

His voice trailed off, and he looked out across to the sea. As I waited for him to continue, I noticed a tear beginning to trickle down his cheek. He cleared his throat and quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand.

''I'm returning the honour, as much as I can. But I can't be in two places at once, and Elba has to be my priority. Mrs. Andrews doesn't even _know _about the sinking. The news hasn't been wired back yet, Mimi.''

My eyes had widened as he spoke. Casting my mind back to what he'd said in the smoking room, I now knew _exactly_ what he'd meant about 'returning the honour'. My fingers and my bottom lip started to tremble again. I didn't know whether to be scared or relieved that he was there in front of me.

''Please stay with me, just a bit longer,'' I begged him, tugging at the sleeve of his coat. ''My heart is broken, Thomas. I can't let go of you - not yet. I'm not ready!"

''I'm _sorry_," he said, shaking his head. ''You have to continue with your life. I fear this moment has prolonged your upset and for that, I truly apologise. I don't want to intrude on your grief. I can't make things worse for you by appearing like _this_! It isn't helping you. I really must go now. But I promise, I'll be watching over you. You have my word on that. You're my angel... ''

_His angel. _Oh gracious, I must've been whimpering and whining like a baby as he spoke. I was simply devastated, and confused. I can only think that the stress, the grief and the hunger had rendered me unable to think and behave rationally. This had to have been a hallucination, brought on by my mental and emotional anguish. I couldn't think of any other explanation for it. He looked real. He sounded real, he smelled real, and he _felt_ real. But I still tried to hang on to this hallucination, desperately. I reached out to grab him by the coat lapels and I pulled him towards me. He towered over me, looking down on me with watery eyes.

''_Don't_, Mimi,'' he whispered, pain etched onto his features. He squeezed his eyelids shut, prompting another tear to trickle down his cheek. ''You'll meet and marry another man, in time,''

I shook my head vigorously, matted curls sticking to the tears all over my face.

''I can never love any man the way I loved _you_, damnit!"

He pulled away from my grip on his coat, wiped his sleeve across his tear stained cheek and lifted his chin high. He swallowed hard and moved his jaw forward, appearing to regain his composure. Fixing me with those brooding hazel eyes of his, his final message was loud and clear.

_''Find Rose.''_

**_..._**

I flinched and woke up with a start as someone shook my shoulder, gently.

_What on earth is going on?_

I was still lying on the bench, covered by my blanket. Well, I was disorientated and confused again. It was then that I realised I'd been asleep for quite some time. And my soul felt crushed, as I knew then that my meeting on the deck with Thomas Andrews had been nothing more than a lucid dream. My body shivered with the breeze as another hundred emotions start to sweep over me. Trying to force my tired eyes open, I shifted on the bench to look at whoever was trying to wake me up. I had a good mind to tell them to leave me be. I didn't want to be disturbed!

''Oh, thank God!" the young lady sighed, standing above me with her hand hovering over my shoulder. ''I've been trying to wake you for a couple of minutes, but you must've been exhausted,''

I focused my eyes on the bedraggled girl, and moved myself into a sitting position. She looked as wet and as miserable as I was, God love her. I smiled up at her, so thankful for a friendly face at last. I pulled my blanket from my shoulders and left it on the bench as I stood to my feet. The girl extended her arms out to me, and pulled me into a warm embrace.

''I'm so glad you made it, Rose,'' I told her, patting her back.

Her arms were tight around me.

''I knew you were alive and I had to find you,'' she whispered, her voice breaking. ''That sweet Welsh officer came looking for survivors in the water, Mimi. He was the only one who went back. If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't be here,''

The man she'd been referring to was Fifth Officer Harold Lowe, the young Welshman who'd helped Lightoller fill the lifeboats the previous evening. We were later to discover that he was the only crew member to have gone back for passengers who'd struggled in the water. He'd saved the lives of six people, including Rose and a Chinese gentleman.

''Where's Jack?'' I asked, though I knew deep down what the answer would be.

Rose pulled back from my arms and shook her head. Her long, damp tresses hung into her ashen face. She didn't resemble that perfect, porcelain doll any more. She looked just like the rest of us; tired, damp and soul destroyed.

''I had to come and find you,'' she said, avoiding the painful subject of the Dawson lad. ''While I was on the lifeboat, I heard a voice in my head. It sounded like Mr. Andrews. That's absurd, isn't it?''

My eyes widened at the mention of Mr. Andrews.

''What? What do you mean?''

''Oh, I must've been hearing things,'' she said, brushing it off. ''But it made sense for me to find you. We should stick together for a while, Mimi,''

I nodded my head slowly, as my legs felt as though they were about to give way underneath me. I returned to my seat on the bench - so many thoughts had begun to churn throughout my mind. It was indeed an absurd notion; Mr. Andrews visiting me in a dream, and Rose hearing his voice in her mind. How ridiculous! I believed in an afterlife of some sorts, but voices in heads and dream visitations? I didn't believe in such nonsense. I was not mentally insane, and neither was young Rose. It was a coincidence and nothing more. I'd been suffering from grief and exhaustion, and clearly, so had she. It made perfect sense that we'd both been delusional under the circumstances. But being delusional did not mean that either of us was suffering from madness! We'd both come through a living hell.

I reached into my coat pocket and took out Mr. Andrews' pocket watch, for nothing more than comfort's sake. I opened the casing anyway, despite knowing that the watch itself had stopped. Taken aback by what I saw, I frowned - the hands on the watch face had moved forward by three and a half hours. The time according to the watch was now a quarter to eight, which I assumed to be correct. I'd been so sure that the mechanism had been ruined by the water. How puzzling!

I held the watch in my hand and moved my gaze slowly across the deck. My eyes stopped at the railings, where Mr. Andrews had materialised in my nonsensical dream.

''Yes,'' I said finally, agreeing with Rose's thoughts. ''I think we should stick together.''


	30. Twisting The Knife

**Author's Note:**

Apologies to some of you, but I won't be featuring much of Rose in the chapters to come; simply because this story belongs to Mimi. I don't feel it's necessary to bog down the upcoming plotlines by continuing to write James Cameron's characters, post-sinking. I still have other original characters of my own to introduce, including Mimi's parents. But, be assured: Mimi and Rose will be acquaintances, with the tragedy of the_ Titanic_ in common.

* * *

_**Chapter 30: Twisting The Knife**_

Rose and I headed indoors to one of the _Carpathia'_s restaurants, where a friendly steward offered us soup and a cup of hot tea. Of course, we eagerly accepted. My stomach had been grumbling so loudly, I was sure everyone around me could hear it. I hadn't eaten for around thirteen hours, and I had very little energy.

Whilst seated at a table in a corner of the crowded restaurant, we cried together. We reminisced about Mr. Andrews, and about Jack Dawson. The pair of us; goodness, how we both sobbed our hearts out. She told me that Jack had sacrificed his own life for hers in the water, and I told her about Mr. Andrews passing away in my arms. These were painful moments for me, and I'm sure they were for her, too. Neither of us could stop crying.

I also let her know about my encounter with a very lost Cal Hockley on deck, and her face dropped; she made it clear to me that she wanted nothing more to do with him, or her mother. I was somewhat surprised by what she said about her mother, but not about Hockley. She confessed that she was going to change her surname to Dawson, in honour of Jack first and foremost, but also to throw Hockley and her mother off her scent. I wasn't sure how that would work; surely they would put two and two together upon seeing the name _Rose Dawson_ on the survivors list? But I had my own difficulties to deal with. Who was I to judge her decision?

Rose must've felt as exhausted as I did. She fell asleep at the table, slumped over in her chair with her damp curls covering much of her face. I let her have some peace, and took a stroll back out onto the deck for a little while. I stopped at the safety railing and gazed out over the sea, deep in thought with my hand buried in my coat pocket; my fingers toyed with the chain of Mr. Andrews' pocket watch. It wouldn't be long until we docked in New York. This would be another challenge in itself, as I had nothing but the clothes on my back and a few sentimental items in my pockets. I had no money and no employment. I wasn't under the illusion that starting over would be easy. My mind wandered as I stood, blankly watching a handful of seagulls hovering above the water.

''So just how long did you know Tom, lass?''

Startled, I turned on my heel. Jonathan Donahue was standing directly behind me; I hadn't even heard him approach. Remembering Mr. Andrews' words in the dream I'd had as I'd slept on the bench, I took a nervous step back.

''_You_ again!"

Mr. Donahue took a sip from the steaming mug clenched between his hands.

''Me again,'' he said casually, smiling.

I shook my head, incredulous that he was still following me around.

''Why are you so _interested _in me, Mr. Donahue? Why can't you just leave me alone?''

To say that I felt like I was continuously repeating myself to this man, was certainly an understatement.

''I told ye before, Mimi,'' he said. ''I said I'd still be around. I saw ye in the cafe there with that red haired young lady, but I didn't want to disturb your crying,''

I snorted, mockingly.

''How very thoughtful of you!"

Mr. Donahue chuckled at my obvious disdain.

''Ah, come on now. No need to be like that, is there? I'm not a bad man, Mimi.''

I glanced over my shoulders for any possible spectators, and lowered my voice.

''He warned me about you. He told me to stay away from you.''

How stupid of me to say that! Mr. Andrews had done no such thing - not really. My dream manifestation of Mr. Andrews had warned me against Jonathan Donahue. Mr. Andrews, in real life, had never even_ mentioned_ a Jonathan Donahue. I had to remember not to confuse lucid dreams with actual events.

Mr. Donahue raised an eyebrow at me.

''Oh, I see. So he did mention me, then?''

I had to backtrack, quickly.

''Well, erm, no. But I go with my gut feeling, Mr. Donahue. My gut feeling tells me you're trouble.''

Mr. Donahue sipped his drink again, ignoring my statement.

''I knew Tom far longer than you did, young lass. And I knew his lady wife, too. A good woman, who hated his life at the shipyard. I felt wretched for poor Helen. She deserved better. Much better.''

Anyone's mentioning of Mr. Andrews' estranged wife made me feel uncomfortable, but this man took those feelings to another level of discomfort. There was something in his eyes when he talked about the wife of the gentleman I loved. I couldn't quite place what it was.

''Thomas was dedicated to his craft!" I argued, rather naively. I probably should've said nothing, but I couldn't help it. In emotive situations, I had a habit of engaging my mouth before my mind.

''Aye, that he was,'' Mr. Donahue agreed, nodding his head. ''_Too_ dedicated, young lady. How do you think... ''

He paused for a moment, stepping forward closer to me. His tone of voice lowered as he continued.

'' ...how do you think Helen ended up with _me_?''

Oh, my Lord. I can remember my jaw dropping open to just about hit the floor. Had my ears deceived me? Mrs. Helen Andrews, with this troublesome Jonathan Donahue character! Was it even a believable scenario? It took me a few seconds before I could even question his confession.

''_You_? I don't believe you,'' I scoffed, turning my back and starting down the deck again. ''Why are you making things up, Mr. Donahue?''

He was hot on my heels, of course.

''I've no reason to make it up, young lady. It happens to be the truth. I was with Helen until quite recently, actually.''

Walking faster and feeling another wave of emotions sweeping through me, I argued back again.

''And I don't believe you! What is _wrong _with you, Mr. Donahue? Don't you realise what you're saying? What a nasty, vindictive man you must be."

''Not nasty and vindictive,'' he said, marching on ahead and stopping me in my tracks. ''A wee bit upset that she ended our relationship for certain _reasons_, maybe...''

I folded my arms and shook my head at him, showing him my displeasure. I'd certainly hoped there was no truth to his allegations.

''So you claim to have been in a relationship with Mrs. Andrews,'' I said, trying to keep my voice down. ''Yet you were a passenger on the ship her husband designed? And surely you must've known he was travelling on its first voyage! Your claims make no sense to me, _Mister_ Donahue,''

''I do understand your cynicism, Miss Monaghan, but it _is _the truth,'' Mr. Donahue sighed, fixing his brown eyes on my face. ''As far as I'm aware, Tom didn't know I was onboard. Had all of this not happened, I would've made my presence known to him,''

''But _why_?'' I demanded, throwing my hands up. ''What would that have achieved? You were supposed to have been his friend.''

''I _was_ his friend, once upon a time. I wanted to make amends with him, and what better way than to sample the delights of _Titanic_? Tom's pride and joy. He pushed his own wife away for that bloody ship. I had to see what all the fuss was about, didn't I? Or so I thought. I'm eating my words with that one now.''

Mr. Donahue shook his head and gave a wry chuckle, his eyes leaving mine for a moment.

''The thing is, dear,'' he continued, looking back at me again. ''Finding out about yerself and Tom, well, it puts a different angle on matters. All makes him a wee bit of a hypocrite, don't you think?''

I frowned, unable to say anything. I didn't believe Mr. Andrews was a hypocrite for finding love _after_ his wife had already left him, if that was what Mr. Donahue had been implying. I found it a little impersonal to be talking about such matters, so openly, with someone I barely even knew. But as despicable as he seemed, I was nevertheless intrigued by his claims.

''Tom hated me for taking Helen's attention away from him,'' Mr. Donahue went on, appearing to notice my bemused expression. ''He wasn't a violent man at all, but he threatened to rearrange my face. What right did he have to complain, though? He wasn't fulfilling his role as a husband. She was lonely. I took care of her while he was with his precious blueprints in his office. He'd be at bloody Harland and Wolff all hours of the day. Helen needed me!''

I didn't want to hear any of this. Oh, I wished I'd just walked away. But I'd felt compelled to defend my darling Mr. Andrews. He was no longer there to do that himself, after all.

''Thomas's heart was broken after what you two did to him!" I gasped. Defending him till the death and beyond, that was what I had to do. It was my responsibility.

''Ack, you really believe that?'' Mr. Donahue responded, as quick as a flash. ''The only thing that would break Tom's heart would be one of his bloody ships turning to ashes. All he ever _cared _about were those ships, Mimi. It doesn't surprise me that he took his dying breath on the damned _Titanic_! He loved nothing more than steel and iron. Rivets and girders!''

I couldn't even deny that. There was certainly a fair amount of truth in Mr. Donahue's words. I hated myself for listening to him! I knew, first hand, how much devotion Mr. Andrews had towards those liners. Had he not died in my arms from suspected heart failure, he _would've_ gone down with _Titanic_. I knew that. By God, did I know that.

I gazed out across the railings, looking over to the horizon. The morning sky was pale blue and clear, and the sea was beautifully calm. All of the previous night's panic and destruction, was nothing but a horrendous and vivid memory. The serenity of our surroundings gave no clues as to what had really happened. It was an odd, and quite incredible, situation for us all to be in. I hadn't even been given the chance to mourn yet.

''You _did_ break his heart, Mr. Donahue,'' I sighed, grasping the railing and lowering my head sorrowfully. ''He talked to me, about Helen and Elba. He loved them! He cried, Mr. Donahue. He cried real tears. He was devastated.''

''Crocodile tears to get ye into his bed, more like,'' Mr. Donahue sneered.

''Not true. Not true at all!" I countered, raising my head again. My knuckles turned white as I grasped the railing even harder. ''He wasn't like that, damnit! He cried for his child. We connected through talking about our children. We could empathise with each other!"

Mr. Donahue's eyes narrowed.

''So you already have a child, young lady?''

Oh, _why_ had I opened my big mouth? I had no desire to talk about Marie. Not with anyone else. The subject of my daughter was still a painful one, nine years after the event. Only one person could've ever coaxed me into talking about Marie, and that person had died in my arms the night before.

''I had a child, and that is all I'll say on the matter.'' I told Mr. Donahue, firmly.

''Fair enough, lass,'' he said. ''Believe it or not, I'm _not _the enemy here.''

Not the enemy? Well, he wasn't coming across that way. He seemed to be a man with a grudge and a huge chip on his shoulder, at the very least.

There was silence for a few moments, as both he and I continued to stare out over the railings to the sea.

''I don't know why you're _telling _me all of this, Mr. Donahue,'' I said, finally. ''Thomas is gone. I have to live my life now, without him. I have my memories. You can't take those away from me,''

''And nor am I trying to!" Mr. Donahue sighed. ''But if you believe he loved you, you're more of a fool than you think! Helen had planned to go back to him, y'know. Why do you think she ended our relationship? She wanted that idiot back, didn't she! The man who loved his ships more than he loved his wife. You couldn't make it up!"

I can't tell you how devastated I'd felt upon hearing those words. Mrs. Andrews, intending to go back to her husband? How absurd. But perhaps it had been true? I didn't want to entertain the notion. It was too hurtful. If Mr. Andrews had known about her intentions, I can imagine he would've gone back to her. I would've been no more than a rebound affair on the _Titanic_, to him.

''I don't believe you, Mr. Donahue!'' I cried, fighting back the all-too-familiar feeling of tears welling in my eyes again. ''Thomas told me there would be no reconciliation with his wife. He was going to begin a new life with me, away from Belfast! We were going to settle down together, have our own children... ''

''Ack, you poor deluded girl,'' Mr. Donahue laughed. ''His love affairs were never with women, young lady. They were with the ships he designed and created. I doubt he ever loved you, dearie. I knew Tom well enough to know that a woman made from God's own flesh and blood was of no interest to him. He talked of his creations as though they were his true loves. Helen had enough of it all. I gave her the attention she deserved!"

I couldn't help it; I started to cry, again. My heart was in tatters, and so was my mind. I couldn't think any more. Rationality had gone out of the window. And despite seeing me in that sort of vulnerable state, Mr. Donahue kept on twisting the knife. He knew his words were affecting me. He could see my tears and he could hear my sobs, quiet though they were.

''Poor Helen, I'm tellin' ye. She'll be a widow now, with a young child. And she doesn't even know about the maid who's expecting her husband's lovechild. How do you think she's going to feel about _that_, young Mimi? It'll all come out, in the end. I'm certain he didn't love you, dear. He _couldn't_ love you."

Well, that was enough for me. Instinctively, I lashed out and slapped him across the face, hard. I had no regrets about doing that. This man was not going to get away with speaking to me in such a way! How dare he? I hardly knew him, and he hardly knew me. Helen Andrews' spurned lover or not - he was rude and presumptuous, and had spoken completely out of turn. My hand stung with the force of the whack I'd given his face, but my inner satisfaction rather cancelled that sensation out.

''Don't you _ever_, speak to me like that again... '' I told him, my teeth gritted with anger. My eyes were so wide that I must've looked quite demented.

Mr. Donahue clasped a hand to his face and rubbed at his reddened cheek.

''Yer a feisty wee thing, aren't you? I bet you were quite the little firecracker with ol' Tommie boy too, eh?''

I frowned at him and shook my head with disgust, before storming off down the promenade in the direction I'd come from. I'd quite simply had enough of him. The dream apparition of my darling Mr. Andrews had been right; this man seemed to have ulterior motives and was not to be trusted. His motivation behind all of these manipulative and vindictive words was still unclear. And I hoped that, once we were off the _Carpathia_, I would never have to lay eyes on him again. His apparent glee in revelling in my unfortunate situation, had left a sour taste in my mouth.

But at least I knew his true identity, or at least what he claimed to be his true identity: he was the man who'd broken Mr. Andrews' heart, by sleeping with his wife. Allegedly, of course. And he seemed quite proud of it, which was shameful, to say the least. His claim rung true with me though. He knew things he couldn't possibly have known, unless he'd been in some sort of personal situation with the Andrews family. Well, I didn't need this nonsense. I could barely think rationally as it was, without the added stress and anxiety of Jonathan Donahue following me around. Docking at New York couldn't have come soon enough. I needed to get away from him, for the sake of my own sanity.


	31. Going Home

**Author's Note:** This story isn't over yet, not by a longshot! There are still more shocks and surprises heading Mimi's way.

Also: Holywood is an actual town in County Down, Northern Ireland.

(Thanks as always to all readers/reviewers/faves!)

* * *

**_Chapter 31: Going Home_  
**

I'd certainly misunderestimated the length of time we'd be onboard the _Carpathia_. Somewhat naively, I'd assumed we'd disembark in New York a few hours after being picked up from the lifeboat, on the 15th of April. It turned out that we would be on the rescue vessel for another three days before docking at New York Harbour; Titanic's lifeboats were dropped off first at the White Star Line pier, before the passengers were allowed to disembark at Cunard Line's Pier 34. Rose and I had stayed together, sharing a cabin with a female _Carpathia_ passenger who'd very kindly taken us in to use her room facilities. I will be forever grateful to the woman, who only gave her name as Julie, for her warmth and her understanding.

Rose had been quiet and distant throughout our two and a half day stay aboard the _Carpathia_. I was, too; it wasn't an easy time for any of those who'd been involved with _Titanic_. There were many wives fearing the worst about their husbands, families with missing relatives, and lone passengers who didn't know what to do with themselves. I'd had another encounter with Jonathan Donahue, though this time I'd given him a much quicker brush-off. I didn't dare tell Rose who he was in relation to Mr. Andrews, and she didn't ask any further. We also saw Caledon Hockley, from a distance, but we didn't make our presence known to him. Neither Rose nor I saw her mother during our stay on the _Carpathia_, though we knew from overhearing conversations that she was around somewhere; and in a deep depression, by all accounts. I tried to convince Rose to go to her mother and put her out of her misery, but was met with a very stern 'no'. I've always believed that Rose would live to regret cutting her mother off completely; if _Titanic_ taught me anything, it was this valuable motto: _'Life is too short, and we're a long time dead.'_

Our arrival in New York, after those three fraught days on the _Carpathia_, was welcomed, but also saddening for everyone who'd survived the _Titanic_ disaster. There was a large media presence as passengers disembarked, which I can imagine must've been unnerving for most of those poor people. Rose and I pushed our way past reporters and photographers, who were more interested in the likes of Colonel Gracie and the pregnant Madeleine Astor anyway. Also present was a large throng of relatives, families and friends, all clinging desperately to the hopes that their loved ones were amongst those who'd survived. I noted a few tearful family reunions, but what was most apparent to everyone, was that these reunions were rarities. At this point, the figures pertaining to the dead were unknown; but later, the world would know that around one thousand, five hundred people perished in what was to be one of the worst maritime disasters of all time. Rose and I were two of the lucky ones, and only by the skins of our teeth.

As we stood together in the drizzle, transfixed by the vision of the Statue Of Liberty before us, neither of us could say a word. I couldn't forget Mr. Andrews telling me he was going to buy me a ring in New York; this should've been the beginning of a new life for me, and for him. But he was gone, and I didn't have the slightest idea what to do next; where I should go, or even how to live. My whole world had been turned upside down within the space of a few days, and I could barely make sense of anything any more.

''If you two ladies have no accomodation,'' an unexpected voice behind us said, ''You could tag along with me till you find yer feet again,''

I spun around, knowing exactly who the voice belonged to.

''Isn't it possible, just once, for you to _stop _turning up unannounced?'' I snapped at Jonathan Donahue. Indeed, his ability for seeming to appear out of nowhere was certainly getting on my nerves by now.

Mr. Donahue smiled and shook his head, as he rummaged around in the left hand pocket of his soiled tuxedo jacket.

''Well, I apologise for scaring you. But the offer is there; I have a parlour suite booked at the Waldorf. I'm two days late, but I'm sure the staff will understand the reasons why,''

Rose seemed a little too distracted by the Statue Of Liberty ahead of us, to pay much attention to him. But I was determined to get rid of him. The man was a pest, perhaps even a menace. If he thought that we'd be tempted to _share_ a hotel suite with him, then he was even more presumptuous than I'd ever imagined.

''Oh, leave us alone, Mr. Donahue. I don't trust you, as you very well know!"

He pulled out a black leather wallet from his tuxedo pocket, and flipped it open.

''I understand,'' he sighed, slipping a few dollar bills out of the wallet. ''If you won't accept my hospitality, then perhaps you'll accept a little something to get you by? I had my currency exchanged before leaving Queenstown, and I assume you don't have any money. So...take this,''

He folded the notes over and handed them to me.

''One thing I did when the ship was sinking was grab my wallet, dear. Always prepared, y'see,''

Well, I must admit that the gesture took me by surprise. All three of us were standing in the rain, looking quite bedraggled and slowly becoming soaked, once again. I'm sure we looked rather like homeless bohemians, still wearing the same damp and dirty clothing from the night of _Titanic_'s sinking. It was true that I had no money, and I knew that Rose had nothing left either. Should I have looked a gift horse in the mouth, for the sake of my stubborn pride? Mr. Donahue's eyes appeared to be pleading with me to take his money.

''I'll be going back to Ireland in a couple of days,'' he said. ''Maybe you should do the same. I'm sure you have family who'd like you to be back with them, hm? There's enough here for you ladies to get yer heads down somewhere for the night, and to pay for a boat home. I insist,''

Rose took her eyes off Lady Liberty and turned to me. She seemed rather dazed.

''Just...just take the money, Mimi,'' she said, softly.

It was one of these oddly ironic moments; there was Rose, a young woman who, only a few days ago, had all the riches money could buy. And now, she had as much as I did in terms of wealth. As for Mr. Donahue's monetary gift, well...I certainly felt conflicted over accepting such a thing, from a man who'd boasted to me about breaking up the Andrews' marriage. I did not agree, morally, with what he'd done. His tryst with Mrs. Andrews had turned my darling Thomas's life upside down, before we'd even sailed on _Titanic'_s first voyage. Mr. Andrews' onboard affair with me had been the product of his loneliness and desire to be loved, after his wife had left him. Helen Andrews and Jonathan Donahue had started all of this, when they went behind Mr. Andrews' back. Mr. Donahue had betrayed his friend and colleague. Why should I take such a person's money? He was untrustworthy, and a man of dishonour.

I battled with my conscience as Mr. Donahue nudged the crisp American notes into my hand. His fingers lingered on top of mine for a moment, and perhaps rather foolishly, I did nothing in response to that. Instead, I squeezed the dollar bills tightly, and nodded a gesture of thanks to Mr. Donahue.

''We appreciate this,'' I whispered, slipping the cash into my coat pocket.

He managed a smile, which appeared to be genuine enough.

''Like I said to you before, young lady, I'm not a bad man. And, well...''

He paused, his eyes glancing towards the Statue Of Liberty before returning to mine again.

''...I rather think we'll meet again, back in Ireland. You and I, Mimi. I can feel it in my blood. I'll be paying Helen a wee visit soon, so perhaps I'll see you in Belfast, eh?''

I didn't answer him. I had no real desire to meet with him in Ireland, but I couldn't say anything now that I had accepted his money. I kept my mouth shut, for the sake of being polite and courteous.

''Take good care of yourselves, ladies,'' he finished, and he strolled away, keeping his eyes on mine a little longer than I would've liked.

Of course, I felt a tremendous pang of guilt for accepting a cash gift from Mr. Donahue. He'd broken up the Andrews' marriage, and had toyed with me at my most vulnerable on the _Carpathia._ But I wasn't a fool; I was merely desperate. I had no other means of providing for myself now that all my belongings, save for a few sentimental items I'd shoved in my pockets, were in the North Atlantic.

That was the last we saw of Jonathan Donahue in New York. However, his prediction would prove to be correct. I would later encounter him, for a much longer period of time, during a fraught and highly emotional situation in Ireland.

Rose and I spent two days staying in a small hotel with other _Titanic _survivors, including Fifth Officer Lowe, who'd taken Rose into his lifeboat. The news about the disaster was enormous; we couldn't escape hearing about it, and reporters often made a nuisance of themselves looking for stories about the sinking. The papers were full of eye catching headlines and speculative accounts, some of which were exaggerated or even plain false. One report I did believe though, was that J. Bruce Ismay had taken a place on a lifeboat when it was widely believed he shouldn't have done. That man was alive and had been seen onboard the _Carpathia _by many_._ I didn't know the details, so I didn't want to make any judgements on his predicament. My goodness, it was difficult to even think, let alone grieve, under these circumstances.

The news was now worldwide, and I knew what I had to do; I put pen to paper and wrote a letter to my parents, Lorcan and Margaret Monaghan, telling them that I was alive and I'd be coming home as soon as I could. I posted the letter at my earliest convenience, and using some of the money given to us by Mr. Donahue, I booked a place on a steamer which would take me back to Ireland. I gave Rose my parents' home address in Holywood, County Down, and we made a pact to keep in touch by written correspondance. During our stay at the hotel, we saw Officer Lowe several times, and he appeared to feel quite protective of us; particularly Rose. Little did I know then, that this would be the humble beginnings of a romantic relationship between the handsome Welsh officer and Rose Dawson.

On the 21st of April, Rose and I said our tearful goodbyes as I finally began my journey home to Ireland. We'd been through the mill together, and I would miss her terribly. But she was under the watchful eye of Harold Lowe, and I had a feeling that he would take good care of her. Me? I was alone again, and desperate to get back to Ireland. Without Mr. Andrews and without Rose, I was homesick. I had no desire to stay in the United States any longer than necessary, given what had happened. _Titanic _was a lifechanging event for thousands of people, but my story was different to everyone else's; I hadn't been a passenger or 'just' a member of staff onboard the ship. My connection to Thomas Andrews, the master shipbuilder, was alive and well, as I would find out for myself in due course.

And after eight days of travel at sea and several stops along the way, I was finally home. _Titanic_ had succumbed to the North Atlantic two weeks before, and in that time, I hadn't allowed myself the opportunity to grieve properly. Now I could face the grieving process, back on Irish soil. Or at least, so I'd believed; there were yet more challenges to face me along the way, starting with when I arrived back in Belfast to reclaim my life.

No sooner had I boarded the train to my parents' hometown of Holywood, I was knocked for six upon overhearing shocking and upsetting news that I hadn't even considered. Whether the news was nothing more than speculation and gossip, or Chinese whispers, I didn't know. But what I did know was this; if there was any truth to these rumours, then I hadn't the slightest idea of how I would survive this terrible, painful mourning. Things were only going to get worse for me, and I would have to keep so many secrets hidden and locked away; to save my own reputation, and the reputation of Thomas Andrews. Perhaps I should've put myself first, but in those days, women were not permitted do that. We were subservient to men, and society's perception of men, whether we liked it or not. Mr. Andrews had a blemish-free reputation in life, and in light of his death, I would be fighting to keep his skeletons - _our _skeletons - locked in my cupboard. This would prove to be a difficult task, with Jonathan Donahue's knowledge of the truth. There were lengths I would have to go to, to keep him from telling all. The fallout from _Titanic _and my relationship with Mr. Andrews, was only just beginning.


	32. A Mother's Love

**Author's Note: **To save any confusion: Mimi's first name is actually Margaret, though she is known to most by her childhood nickname, Mimi (as her mother's name is also Margaret.)

**In this chapter, artistic liberty has allowed me to veer away from canon/actual events. I _am_ aware that the real life Andrews was never found.  
**

Thanks as always to readers and reviewers.

* * *

_**Chapter 32: A Mother's Love**_

It was a tearful reunion with my parents, as had been expected. Things between us had been strained for quite some time now, but I'd never stopped loving them. The shame I'd once brought upon the family had diminished over time, though I couldn't truly forgive my parents for forcing me to hand over Marie to a married cousin. But almost nine years had gone by since then, and I had other issues to focus on; I couldn't change the past. One thought did go through my mind; if I hadn't survived the _Titanic_ disaster, my daughter wouldn't have missed out on her mother. Her mother was the woman bringing her up. I was nothing to Marie - nothing. And I hadn't asked for that; it was how my parents had wanted things to be. For that, I could never forgive them. My lack of forgiveness after all these years was unspoken, but they knew it existed.

Still, they broke down in tears when I walked through their door, on the afternoon of the 29th of April. It had been two weeks since _Titanic_, and they had been desperate for news. My telegram had arrived only the day before, giving them the relief they'd hoped for. Their only child was safe and well. I'd never seen them so emotional before; not even when I had to give up Marie.

''Thank God you're alive, Margaret!" they kept saying to me, over and over. ''Thank God you came back to us. Someone must be watching over you, dear - we thought we'd lost you!''

And me, well of course, I was emotional too. I was back home, in my beloved Ireland, in the house I'd left many years ago. The house that was filled with memories, good and bad. And now, I had somewhere to grieve, somewhere to mourn for the man I loved. But I couldn't even tell them. I couldn't tell my mother or my father who that man was. His identity would have to be kept a secret, for the sake of his reputation and my own. And, make no mistake; this would prove to be very hard for me to deal with.

My father had to go back to work and finish his shift, leaving me and my mother alone in the kitchen. I was seated at the dining table, with my mother fussing around me like a clucky hen. She plied me with sandwiches and cups of tea; the kettle was continually boiling on the stove. I saw that _The Ulster Times_ was neatly folded on the kitchen table, so I turned the newspaper over to the front page, figuring that I should keep up with what was being said about the _Titanic_ disaster. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! If this newspaper headline was to be believed, the gossip and the whispers I'd overheard on the train seemed to be truthful enough. My hands trembled as I lifted the paper from the table, and read the front page story quietly to myself:

_''TITANIC SHIPBUILDER'S BODY RETRIEVED FROM WATER, TO BE RETURNED TO FAMILY IN IRELAND''_

To say that my stomach had begun to churn at the mere sight of that headline, was putting it mildly. As the kettle on the stove bubbled for possibly the twentieth time, I swallowed hard and read on:

_''The body of the Comber-born head architect and shipbuilder, Mr. Thomas Andrews, has been found in the North Atlantic by seamen from the recovery liner, the Mackay-Bennett. The news was confirmed yesterday, the 28th of April, by Lord William Pirrie, an uncle and colleague of Mr. Andrews._

_Mr. Andrews, aged 39 years old, was the master shipbuilder for Harland & Wolff shipyard in North Belfast, and a passenger on Titanic during her fatal maiden voyage. With his team of shipbuilders, Mr. Andrews designed and oversaw the construction of the ill fated liner. _

_Eyewitness reports given by survivors, suggest that Mr. Andrews made valiant attempts to save passengers as Titanic began to sink into icy waters. According to several survivors, he was seen throwing deckchairs overboard to aid those who were helpless in the water, and gave up a place in a lifeboat to save others. It is also reported that Mr. Andrews helped to evacuate staterooms and insisted on all passengers wearing life jackets. Mr. Andrews was believed to have been aided by a White Star Line stewardess, whose identity and whereabouts are currently unknown. _

_The Mackay-Bennett recovery vessel was sent to recover bodies from Titanic's wreckage, where Mr. Andrews was found. He was indentified by his clothing and the items found on his person. His body is being returned to the Andrews family. _

_Mr. Andrews is survived by his wife, Mrs. Helen Reilly Barbour Andrews, and one child, Miss Elizabeth Law Barbour Andrews. A funeral service is expected to be held at the Comber Church Of Ireland, Co. Down, on the afternoon of the 1st of May. Family and close friends are welcome to pay their respects. However, Mrs. Andrews has requested that the family be given privacy to mourn, and she wishes that press attendance is kept to a minimum.''_

I was completely overwhelmed by such news. Those rumours I'd heard onboard the train to Holywood had been true, after all. My darling Thomas had been found, and his body was coming home to his family. I could barely think; barely take the news in. I knew that my hands were visibly trembling, and my eyes must've been as wide as saucers. But I was silent.

My mother placed another cup of steaming hot tea in front of me on the table.

''It's very sad about Mr. Andrews, isn't it?'' she said, noting the pained look on my face. ''I remember you talking fondly about him before you set off on the _Titanic_. He seemed like a lovely man, from what you told me. I think you had quite a thing for him! Did you see him very much before the iceberg hit the ship?''

_I think you had quite a thing for him. Did you see him very much?_ Oh, such irony in my mother's words.

''I-I did,'' I whispered, closing my eyes and letting the newspaper drop to the table. ''Did you read about the stewardess in the paper, the one who helped Thomas when the ship was sinking? That was _me_, ma. I helped him. I was with him a lot,''

My mother sighed and touched the back of my hand gently. I opened my eyes and turned around to look at her.

''Ack, Margaret,'' she sighed. ''You poor thing. My goodness, though! Yer a bit of a heroine yerself then, if you were helping with the evacuation,"

''Don't be silly, ma,'' I told her, shaking my head. ''It was only what all the other staff were doing. I told passengers to leave their rooms, and I made sure folk had their lifebelts. I helped to chuck a few deckchairs overboard. And there was a wee girl who couldn't find her daddy. Thomas and me, we helped her find him. Oh, ma...I wonder what happened to them?''

I slumped in my chair and rested my head in my hands. There were too many emotional thoughts running through my mind at that moment; the revelation that Mr. Andrews' body had been found, the upcoming funeral, and remembering about that little girl being reunited with her father before _Titanic_ went under. It was true that I didn't know what their fate had been. And I didn't recall seeing the child or her father onboard the _Carpathia_. I'm quite sure they didn't make it out alive.

My mother shifted her chair closer to mine at the table.

''I'm proud of you, dear,'' she whispered, moving a lock of hair from my eyes. ''Not only did you survive, but you made sure people were safe first. Yer father will agree with me when he comes back. He'll be proud of you, too. You mark my words!''

My goodness; I had actually done something in my life, to make my parents proud! Yes, the circumstances had been very unfortunate. But my parents, having pride in their daughter who'd previously let them down by having a child out of wedlock? At least I'd managed to do something right. But what if they knew the truth about my involvement with Thomas Andrews? Would they still have their pride? Or would that be a fleeting moment, to be replaced by disgust that I'd had a relationship with an unhappily married man?

I stared at the newspaper before me, feeling my eyes welling with tears. Mrs. Andrews was now the widow of the man I loved. It didn't matter that she'd been unfaithful to him with Jonathan Donahue; legally, she was still the spouse of Thomas Andrews. She would be the grieving widow, crying in the front pew of the church at his funeral. Me? I was nothing. I'd always be nothing. Only he and I knew the true depth of our relationship together. He would literally take his love for me to his grave. And, if Jonathan Donahue was to be believed, Mrs. Andrews wanted to return to her husband. She must've loved him, despite his obsession with those liners and his long hours at the shipyard. And Mr. Donahue had taunted me with the idea that if Mr. Andrews had survived, he would've gone back to his wife and forgotten about me. So, yes; I really felt like nothing. They'd be burying the love of my life in two days' time, and I knew I didn't even have the right to be there. The thought alone was painful enough.

''Oh, Thomas,'' I murmured, unable to stop myself from saying his name in front of my mother. How stupid of me, I know. But I couldn't help it; it slipped out before I even realised.

My mother cocked her head to the side. She'd heard me, alright.

''You should go to the funeral service, Margaret,'' she then suggested, tenderly. ''The paper says friends are welcome,''

Of course she didn't know that I was not simply a 'friend' of Mr. Andrews.

''I can't go to the funeral, ma,'' I sighed, attempting not to make a fool of myself by crying. But my eyes were filling with tears, no matter how much I tried to shrug the feeling off.

''Ack, but why not?'' my mother asked, her tone still soft with concern.

''I just...I just can't, ma. It's not my place.''

''What do you mean? It sounds to me as though ye'd be welcome!''

''Ma, please. Don't pry. I can't go, alright? I can't be there at Thomas's funeral.''

My mother frowned and paused for a few moments, before lowering her voice a little more. There was no-one else in the house, but she still spoke quietly.

''Margaret,'' she began carefully, making sure I was looking directly at her. ''I'm not being rude, but I've noticed that you don't refer to Thomas Andrews in a formal manner any more. And you used to. You used to call him _Mr. Andrews_, if you ever spoke about him,''

Oh, Lord. My own mother had picked up on something I'd long since forgotten about. I'd been so used to calling Mr. Andrews by his first name, that it was escaping my lips without even thinking. Despite my obvious upset, my response to her was coherent and to the point.

''We became good friends, ma. He didn't want me to call him Mr. Andrews. He insisted on Thomas. It's not a big deal.''

My mother wasn't a fool, though. She could see there was more to it than what I'd admitted to.

''Margaret, I didn't come down with yesterday's shower,'' she scolded me, arching an eyebrow. ''I remember you fawning over the man when you first started working for the White Star Line. Look at you now, yer eyes all red. Reading the paper and telling me you can't go to his funeral. I know what yer like, Margaret Monaghan. You're pining after him, aren't ye?''

Well yes, I was. More than 'pining', of course. But I couldn't tell my own mother that. I didn't deny the 'pining'; in fact, I didn't say anything at all.

_I loved him, ma. You've no idea how much._

My mother gave a cynical roll of her eyes at my silence, and sighed hopelessly.

''Oh, what are ye like, Margaret? Hankering after a married man who's unexpectedly passed on. I know it won't be easy for you, but you have to move on. Plenty more fish in the sea, eh?''

She quickly realised her unfortunate choice of wording, and looked as if she wanted the ground to swallow her up.

''I'm sorry, love. That was a silly thing for me to say...''

I waved my hand in front of me dismissively and tried to regain my composure.

''It's alright, ma.''

We sat at the table together quietly, awkwardly even. Mother broke the silence.

''So you had quite a fancy for the shipbuilder, then? Well, looking back, I did see the signs. You were always a wee bit flustered whenever you used to mention him. I'm not surprised the news of his body being found is upsettin' ye, love.''

I couldn't keep it in. I really couldn't. I'd held most of my emotions inside for the past two weeks, and I simply could not do it any more. I was at home now, and I had to grieve. I _needed_ to, for my own sanity. Maybe I was bound by social standards not to tell anyone about my love affair with Mr. Andrews, but mourning his loss was still something I needed to do, regardless of anything else.

''Thomas and I became close,'' I told my mother, the tears slowly starting to trickle down my cheeks. ''He...he died in my arms, ma,''

My mother's eyes widened, and her ears seemed to prick up.

''In yer _arms_, Margaret? What-what happened? Was he injured by something?''

I shook my head, and it all spilled out. Once I started, I couldn't stop.

''Not injured, ma. We were in the smoking room in First Class, saying our goodbyes. He was going to go down with the ship, and I tried to convince him to save his life. But he just went pale and collapsed...I held him till he passed away. Maybe the stress of _Titanic _sinking was too much for his heart. He felt responsible for all the lives being lost. He thought he hadn't built a strong enough ship. He was devastated, ma. I was the last person to see him alive...''

My mother pulled me into her arms, and I sobbed like a baby into her shoulder. It was something I'd wanted, so desperately. I was twenty seven years old, but I still needed my mum's love and warmth. There hadn't been much of that from her, since she'd given away my Marie. But my mother could now see how distraught I was over _Titanic_ and Mr. Andrews, and she let me cry against her. She knew I craved her attention.

''Ack, mah darlin','' she soothed, rocking me back and forth like a young child. ''Darlin', it's alright. Let it all out, now. Let it all out...''

And I did. The only thing I didn't tell her, was the extent of my relationship with Mr. Andrews. But after putting up with my tears and hearing all my sobbing and rambling, my astute mother said,

''It wasn't a friendship, was it, Margaret?''

I pulled a handkerchief from my dress pocket and dabbed at my dampened cheeks.

''What? Of course it was, ma!''

My mother was calm.

''Margaret - look me in the eye and tell me you weren't having romantic relations with Thomas Andrews.''

I couldn't do it. I couldn't lie to her; not after she'd caught me out with that one question. It was pointless. She knew. I fidgeted with the handkerchief between my fingers, trying to distract myself.

''Oh, you _silly_ girl,'' my mother sighed, and the exasperation was obvious from her tone of voice. ''Of all the men in all the world, you went for one who was _married_!"

I snapped back instantly.

''His wife had already left him! She was unfaithful to him. He needed me. I needed him. We needed each other!"

''Well, it's no wonder you don't want to be goin' to this funeral then!" Mother retorted, bitterly. ''Ye can't face his widow, is that right?''

I stood up from the table quickly, nothing but fury coursing through my veins.

''That's right!" I shouted, my eyes blazing. ''I can't face her and I can't face his family! I have to remain Thomas's secret other woman, to save his bloody reputation! He was going to walk away from his marriage completely, ma. He was going to be with me. He told me himself!"

My mother also stood up, her chair scraping harshly across the tiled kitchen floor as she did so.

''But he was still legally married to Mrs. Andrews, Margaret. He was _not _divorced. And he had a young child! My God, what were ye_ thinking_?''

''And _this_ is why I didn't want to tell you!" I spat back, still fighting my tears. ''I knew you'd judge me so harshly. What are ye going to do now, ma? Tell my father, and the pair of ye will disown me? Is _that _it? Because if it is, I don't even care any more!"

In a flurry of tears and furious anger, I stormed out of the kitchen and ran up the stairs to the little room at the corner of the house; my old bedroom. I flung open the door and threw myself down on the tiny, single bed, sobbing my heart out into the threadbare goosefeather pillow. I must've been crying for a good twenty minutes or so, when I felt a weight at the foot end of the bed. Raising my head from the pillow, I saw my mother sitting there, silently. After a couple of minutes, she slowly nodded to me.

''Go to Thomas's funeral, Mimi. You might regret it, if you don't.''

She was encouraging me? I didn't understand why.

''I can't,'' I whispered, tightly clutching my pillow with desperation. ''I can't look Helen Andrews in the eye,''

''I'm sure you won't have to,'' my mother said. ''She doesn't have to know about you and her husband. You'll simply be a White Star Line employee, paying your respects,''

I frowned, still unable to understand why my mother seemed to have a sudden change of heart.

''Why do you want me to go to his funeral, ma? You don't approve of what I did,''

My mother shifted herself farther up the bed, to sit closer to me.

''I don't approve, because he was still a married man. You should've known better than that! But I think I can see how much Mr. Andrews..._Thomas_...meant to you. And who am I to judge, when I didn't see the two of you together with my own eyes. If you say it was true love for you, then maybe it was. Go to the funeral, Mimi. It'll give you some closure. And maybe then, you'll be able to move forward.''

I looked at her for a moment, thinking about what she'd said. Perhaps she was right. But I didn't want my father finding out about my love affair with Thomas Andrews. He'd be furious that I'd been with an already-married man; the fact that Mr. Andrews had been miserable in his marriage, would be beside the point. My father would have hit the roof if he'd found out what I'd been up to with the shipbuilder, onboard the _Titanic_. If Mr. Andrews had still been alive, father would've killed him himself.

As though she were reading my mind, my mother lowered her voice and assured me; and these were the most wonderful and heartfelt words I'd ever heard, coming from my mother's own mouth.

''I won't tell your father about what you've been doing, Margaret. Ye don't have to worry. It's between you and me. Mr. Andrews was 'just your friend' and nothing more. This is our secret. Your daddy and I...we can't afford to lose our daughter again. Once was bad enough, darlin'. I don't want to push you away any more. You've been through a terrible experience, and you've lost the man you loved. You need _our_ love. I'm not lettin' ye go again, Margaret. _We're_ not lettin' ye go.''


	33. The Outcast

**Author's Note:** And _still_ this story carries on!

The usual thanks to readers & reviewers.

**Again, events in this chapter are_ not_ canon to actual real-life events, for the sake of creativity.**

* * *

_**Chapter 33: The Outcast**_

The first day of May arrived, and my mother had done a grand job of convincing me that I should attend Mr. Andrews' funeral service. Doubts remained in my own mind; his widow would be there, and also his family and friends. I still believed I was simply nothing, in the grand scheme of things. None of those people knew of my existence, let alone of my personal involvement with Mr. Andrews. I had little in the way of reminders from my fleeting time with him... only the pocket watch, which I'd hidden away inside a drawer in my dressing table, and the water damaged letter for Elba Andrews. At this point, I still wasn't sure if I was expecting his child or not. I'd been so caught up in my grief that I'd barely even thought about it.

Mother had bought me a sombre black dress with a new coat and bonnet, also in black, for the funeral. She tried to reason that a corset would 'correct that awful posture' of mine, but I stood my ground and refused to be fitted for one. Regardless of my refusal, she insisted on spending what little she had on a new wardrobe for her penniless daughter. My father knew of the clothes and was aware of the funeral, but as we'd agreed between us, mother and I kept my relationship with Mr. Andrews quiet. I may have been twenty seven years old, but father couldn't have handled any more shame brought upon our family. My little Marie had already been a skeleton in my cupboard for years; father would've given the Andrews family hell if he'd known about my romantic involvement with the shipbuilder. Mother and I must've been the only two people in Northern Ireland who knew the truth. How scandalous! Mother didn't care a hoot about _his_ reputation, though. Her concern was only for me. She just wanted to keep me safe from hurtful gossip and tittle tattle.

As I dressed for the funeral and applied my rouge and lip tint, I tried not to think too much about what I was getting myself into. Was I really prepared for this, mentally? I can't say that I was. Nothing could convince me that I had any right to be there and mourn for this man. I look back on that time now, and I can see that I was only going because mother thought I should do so. It was an odd situation - my own mother being insistent that I should go to my married lover's funeral. But I knew she wanted closure for me. Morbid as it seemed, she believed I'd be able to move forward with my life if I could see his coffin and his grave. Perhaps she was right. As the saying goes: _Mother knows best_.

I also had a hidden agenda, something I hadn't told her about; to give that letter to Mrs. Andrews, for her daughter. I must've been insane, considering that I would have to speak directly to the grieving widow. But I wanted to honour my promise to Mr. Andrews. Of course, the envelope was damaged by contact with the water, meaning the letter inside was probably damaged too. But I felt uncomfortable having something which was not mine, and I did assure Mr. Andrews that his wee girl would get his correspondance. I took the letter from my dressing table drawer and slipped it into my coat pocket, to take with me.

After waving my mother goodbye on the doorstep, I made my way to the railway station, where I boarded the train to Comber. Even as I took my seat, I felt a heavy sense of unease about my destination. I'd been to Comber once, years before, on a family day out. That had been a happy time, and this was a very different situation. The forty minute train journey dragged as I mulled things over in my head. I reasoned that I was stupid and irrelevant, as a person. What right did I have to be at the shipbuilder's funeral service? Being a one-time employee of White Star Line made no difference, to me. I couldn't help feeling that I simply didn't belong with the other mourners.

Once in Comber, I followed a small group of people who were also dressed from top to toe in black. I wasn't exactly sure where the local Church Of Ireland was, but I was certain these people were heading that way, and indeed they were. My heart began to pound as I entered the churchyard, deliberately lagging behind those who were more worthy of being there than I was. My conscience was eating away at me.

_I shouldn't be here. I really shouldn't be here._

As I waited in line to get into the church, I tried to blend in and be inconspicuous. That didn't prove to be too difficult as everyone was dressed in regulatory black anyway. I did hope, however, that no-one would approach me to speak to me. I kept my head down as much as I could, wishing that the ground would swallow me up. There was a low murmur all around me, of mourners speaking in hushed tones. Quiet, solemn music from the church's organ could be heard from inside. I could barely keep myself together, through my mix of nerves and grief. I clasped my trembling hands together in front of me, but I felt that I was drawing attention to myself with my anxious behaviour. I'm sure nobody really noticed, yet I was so highly strung that I convinced myself I had _GUILTY OF ADULTERY WITH THOMAS ANDREWS _written all over my forehead. I know now that I was just being paranoid, but who could've blamed me? In the eyes of strangers, I would've been little more than a harlot. Had Mr. Andrews lived, I would've stood in the way of any reconciliation initiated by his wife. What kind of woman did that make me?

Slowly, mourners filed into the church. There was quite the turnout, as expected. Mr. Andrews had clearly been a popular man with not just the shipping industry, but the local community as well. There were many employees from Harland and Wolff, and even familiar faces from White Star Line. My stomach churned as I deliberately sat as close as I could to the back of the hall; away from those I knew from White Star, and those who were Mr. Andrews' close family.

_I don't belong here. I have no right to be at this funeral. What on earth am I doing?_

I'd just about had enough_, _before the service itself had even begun_. _I stood to my feet to leave, but I stopped as an eerie quiet descended upon the church hall. A distraught woman, with her face covered by a veil, had appeared at the door. She was sobbing quietly, but still loud enough for her sniffles to be heard echoing through the church hall. In her gloved hand, she clutched a single red rose. Escorting her was an older lady, who comforted her as she walked. The congregation rose from their seats as a mark of respect; I didn't need anyone to tell me who the veiled lady was. That churning, nauseous sensation in my stomach worsened as I watched her making her way down the aisle, clutching the arm of the other woman who I presumed was her mother.

_I shouldn't BE here._

My hands still trembling and my face taut with anxiety, I averted my eyes to the floor and left the pew, sneaking out of the door again. Once outside in the cool air, I pressed my back against the stone church wall and closed my eyes, my breath catching in my throat.

_I can't face Mrs. Andrews. I shouldn't be in this bloody town.  
_

I could hear the clip-clopping sound of horses' hooves, drawing nearer and nearer. Knowing what this meant, I slowly opened my eyes again. A horse drawn carriage, pulled by a single Clydesdale, was coming through the churchyard. It was flanked by an undertaker and several other gentlemen, whom I assumed to be the pall bearers. The men walked somberly with their heads bowed, out of respect. Mr. Andrews' coffin had been carefully placed inside the back of the carriage, surrounded by bouquets of white lillies. Panicking, I scurried to the side of the church building and hid behind a rhodedenran bush, hoping that I hadn't been seen by anyone in the funeral cortege. I peeked out from between the leaves and watched as the horse drawn carriage came to a halt outside the church. The undertaker directed the pall bearers towards the coffin, and they took their places, hauling the casket up onto their shoulders. This had been one of the moments I'd dreaded witnessing; pall bearers moving the coffin into the church. My beloved Mr. Andrews was inside that polished oak casket, resting forever. The truth hit me like a sledgehammer: I'd never see him again. He was really gone. Unable to hold it in any longer, I let go of the pent-up emotion I'd kept hidden all morning, slumping to my knees on the grass. The tears came, and so did the sobs. I pulled off my bonnet and hurled it to the ground with a potent mixture of grief and anger. I was nothing but a pathetic, weeping mess. What a shameful way for a woman to behave, and all over a married man who had passed away. My wild curls hung in my face, and strands of hair stuck to my cheeks with warm tears. _  
_

''Aw now, lass,'' an unexpected male voice soothed, from out of nowhere.

I felt embarrassed and ashamed to be caught behaving in such a way; crying like a spoiled child as a stranger passed by. However, this wasn't a stranger. Moving my hair out of my eyes, I looked up through the stinging tears, to see a familiar face standing before me. The silver haired man was smartly dressed in funeral attire.

_Jonathan Donahue._

There was a part of me that wasn't surprised to see him mooching around there, outside the church on the day of Mr. Andrews' funeral. I'd always hoped that I wouldn't bump into him again, despite what he'd said on the _Carpathia_. Apart from when I'd survived the _Titanic_, that little thing called luck was rarely on my side.

Mr. Donahue politely held out his hand and nodded his head at me.

''Let me help you up. There's still mildew on that grass.''

Frowning, but too confused to say anything, I took his hand and steadied myself onto my feet.

''I told ye we'd meet again,'' he said, locking my eyes with his. ''I had a feeling you might be here today,''

He pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and offered it to me. I accepted it and gently dabbed at the tears on my face, still reeling from the shame that I'd been seen. But Mr. Donahue already knew of my terrible secret, so in a way, I was relieved that I didn't have to explain my presence or my emotional reaction.

''I-I was in the church, but I had to get out of there,'' I squeaked, trying to gain a little composure. ''I saw Mrs. Andrews and I just couldn't stay,''

Mr. Donahue heaved a sigh and then pursed his lips.

''I understand that, Mimi. You and I, we're a right pair of outcasts. As you can imagine, I'm not the most welcome of guests in there.''

''Then why _are_ you here?'' I snapped back. I was feeling defensive over being labelled an 'outcast', by the man who'd helped to break up the Andrews' marriage. How hypocritical of him!

_"_Because Helen is still a friend, and she _asked_ me to be here," he answered me. "Moral support for the lady, nothing more than that,"

"Well, after what you did to Thomas, no wonder you're not welcome in there!" I spat, folding my arms and turning myself away from him.

He gave another sigh.

"Look, Mimi. I know this is difficult for you. It's not easy for me either, believe it or not. But ye have to pull yerself together, eh? Helen planned to go back to Tom. He would _never_ have agreed to start a new life with you, if he'd known his wife was returning to him. My Lord, no! If he'd made it out of _Titanic_ alive, he and Helen would've reconciled. Believe me, dear. He's not worth all those tears."

I wrinkled my nose with anger. How dare he be so dismissive of my feelings, and of my relationship with Mr. Andrews? And on the day Mr. Andrews was being laid to rest, on top of that! I turned again to face him.

''Why are you being like this, Mr. Donahue?'' I asked. ''Why are my feelings and my private affairs anything to do with you?''

''Well, they're not,'' he responded calmly. ''But I share your pain. The woman I adore is grieving over her husband. I could never live up to the wonderful Tom, in her eyes. You and I, Mimi... we both love people we have no_ right_ to love,''

I stared at him, searching his eyes; not once in those few moments did he break that eye contact with me. His lips were pursed again and his jaw was firmly clenched. My goodness, looking at him, he still reminded me of a slightly older version of Mr. Andrews. And the strange thing was, his words to me had actually made sense. _His_ forbidden love was Helen Andrews; _my_ forbidden love was her deceased husband. There was nothing about that, that wasn't true. I could see Mr. Donahue's point. My cheeks flushed as I looked to my feet.

''I have a letter, in my pocket,'' I whispered, changing the subject. ''The letter for Elba. I had it on the lifeboat, if you remember,''

Mr. Donahue nodded.

''I remember.''

Still looking at my feet, I carried on.

''May I give it to you? To pass on to Mrs. Andrews. Thomas wanted to make sure Elba got it. I'd planned to post it in New York, but the handwriting on the envelope was too smudged. It wouldn't have gone very far,''

Mr. Donahue smiled sympathetically and nodded his head.

''Of course.''

I took the letter from my coat, glanced at it for the last time, and handed it over to Mr. Donahue.

''I'll make sure Helen gets it,'' he assured me, slipping it into his own jacket pocket.

Maybe I was naive enough to trust him; I couldn't have given that letter to Mrs. Andrews myself. I was the one who'd been with her husband between the sheets, naked as the day as I was born, when the iceberg had struck his precious ship. I could not look his wife in the eye, no matter how badly she'd treated him herself. But at least I had _some_ morals and values. Mr. Donahue, on the other hand, didn't seem to have many of those. I wasn't even sure I believed his explanation of being there to lend Mrs. Andrews some 'moral support'. Yet, who was I to judge? My personal life was as much of a mess as his seemed to be. But it wouldn't be long before hiding my relationship with the shipbuilder would prove to be too difficult. Living a lie just wasn't going to work. It'd only be a matter of time before my secret life was exposed and laid bare, all thanks to my own stupidity. I would live to regret associating with Jonathan Donahue: the man with the hidden agenda.


	34. A Glimmer Of Hope

_**Author's Note**__**: **__A _shorter chapter, this time.

Thanks as always for the R&Rs!

* * *

_**Chapter 34: A Glimmer Of Hope  
**_

A couple of weeks passed after my rather disasterous effort at attending Mr. Andrews' funeral. I can't say that much closure had been obtained from anything I'd done that day. It had been a mistake to even be there in the first place. I hadn't been back to Comber since then to visit the grave; I didn't even_ see _his grave on the day of the service. I'd opted to take the train home again, after my encounter with Jonathan Donahue.

And now, I still felt as though I was hanging in mid-air - stuck in some kind of emotional limbo, as it were. How could any of this get better? I cried every night before going to sleep, alone in my tiny little bedroom in my parents' house. The latest news from the official inquiry into _Titanic'_s sinking graced the front pages every day. I was good at burying my head in the sand, as I did my best to stay away from newspaper stands on street corners. I just didn't want to know. My mother warned me that I might be called to give evidence at the inquiry, especially given my personal involvement with Mr. Andrews. I was relieved that this didn't happen. I did hear that Bruce Ismay and others were being given quite the grilling.

Mother was very kind and tried her best to understand my personal turmoil, but we were still keeping the truth of the situation from my father. He was determined that I begin to accept the _Titanic_ tragedy, and insisted that I '_stop wallowing in this ridiculous grief'_. I don't believe he was being deliberately cruel or heartless; he was just a man, like most other men of that era, who was uncomfortable with feelings and emotions. His answer to my 'wallowing', was to send me out to work as a housekeeper. You see, I was no longer employed with White Star Line. Like all other surviving White Star Line workers, I'd been officially relieved from the company's employment as soon as _Titanic _hit the ocean bed. My father's manager, Harry Morgan, required a new housekeeper for his personal residence, so it seemed I'd come home at just the right time. I spent ten hours a day, six days a week, cleaning; scrubbing floors on my hands and knees, handwashing laundry, changing beds, and anything else that was needed of me. It was hard physical work, but I had little else left in my life. I wasn't happy, and it was a world away from being a maid onboard the _Titanic_.

Then one afternoon, six weeks to the day after _Titanic _sank, I awoke with a start on the cold kitchen floor of my new employer's residence. I was lying sprawled on my side, with two people on their knees next to me, fussing with concern. I realised that one of them was a doctor and the other was Mrs. Morgan, the wife of my employer. My head was dizzy and pounding, my mouth was dry, and I felt weak. I could barely focus my eyes to look ahead.

''Goodness, dearie, you've come round!" Mrs. Morgan said to me.

''Can you tell us what happened, young lady?'' the doctor chipped in right after her.

I'd no _idea_ what had happened! One minute I'd been cleaning some pots in the sink, the next minute I was there on the kitchen floor with a terrible headache. I tried to sit up, but I was still weak and could only lie back down again. Mrs. Morgan scurried to the sink to fill a glass of water for me, as the doctor held my wrist to check my pulse.

''It seems that your blood pressure is a wee bit on the low side, Miss Monaghan,'' he said, as Mrs. Morgan handed me the glass of water. ''I'm quite sure that you fainted. Have you been feeling unwell at all today?''

I nodded.

''I was sick this morning, but I was fit as a fiddle after that.''

''I see,'' the doctor said, placing my arm by my side again. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. ''Did you eat anything that didn't agree with you last night?''

I gave a sigh as I tried to focus my eyes on the man.

''Not that I'm aware of. I was nauseous yesterday morning, then I was fine. I'm not too worried, sir. I'll be right as rain in no time.''

I heard the doctor murmur something to Mrs. Morgan, and she nodded her head in agreement with him.

''I'm going to make up a wee bed for you, Mimi,'' she told me, standing up. ''I think you should get some rest first, then I'll send you home for the day. You're still not looking too clever,''

The doctor and Mrs. Morgan carefully escorted me upstairs to the spare bedroom, where I had a lie down on the plush, queen-sized bed. I was prescribed complete bedrest for two more days, as the doctor suspected I'd caught a stomach bug or some other kind of virus. Or at least, that's what he'd said in the presence of Mrs. Morgan. The look in his eyes as he spoke to me, told me otherwise.

Of course, I knew that I wasn't actually ill with anything. I'd been dizzy, sick and nauseous like this nearly ten years ago, when I'd been in the first few weeks of my pregnancy with Marie. And while I usually paid little attention to the date that my menstrual periods arrived, I did know that I seemed to have missed one for the month of April. Considering Mr. Andrews' prediction and my own gut feeling several weeks ago, this didn't actually come as a surprise to me. My missing monthly visit, combined with the sudden bouts of vomiting and dizziness, confirmed what I had suspected for weeks; that I was expecting the child of Thomas Andrews. As you can imagine, I was overjoyed at the prospect of motherhood; I finally had a second chance at being someone's mummy! Of course, I felt quite miserable every time the nausea and vomiting swept over me on those particular mornings. I dashed around a lot at home, to be sick in the outside lavatory, before heading in to another day's cleaning work at the Morgans. But I was pleased with being an expectant mother again. This was something to take away the pain of losing the man I loved - something to look forward to, and to work hard for. I knew, however, that I wouldn't be able to keep it from my parents for long. I predicted that my father would react in a way that would be quite upsetting; I'd already been an unmarried mother once, and now it was happening again. But I was not going to give up my child this time. No-one would force me to part with the baby I longed for, shame or no shame. I would finally have a link to Mr. Andrews, in the form of the life we'd created together onboard the steamship that took _his _life. This was a glimmer of hope on the horizon, in the bleak times that I'd been facing. And for me, at least, something positive was coming from my beloved's untimely death. I just prayed that other people - my parents, especially - would only see it that way.


	35. I'm Keeping My Baby

(Thanks as always for all R&Rs.)

* * *

_**Chapter 35: I'm Keeping My Baby  
**_

I must've been seven or eight weeks pregnant when my mother started to notice. Oh, I was as thin as a rake; more so than before, with such terrible morning sickness. There were times when nausea hit me in the evenings too, just before bed. I was still working as a housekeeper for the Morgans, but it was hard when I had so little energy. My mother took me aside one Sunday morning, after another of my dashes to the outside lavatory. Thankfully my father was not in the house, or there would've been hell to pay.

''I didn't come down with yesterday's shower, Mimi,'' mother told me, her tone hushed. ''You've been running to that toilet every mornin' for the past few weeks, and you're paler than usual. Oh, and you fainted at the Morgans. I think you're expectin' again. I'm right, aren't I?''

My defence mechanism was to deny it immediately. I mock laughed, though it was clear that my mother could sense my discomfort.

''Don't be ridiculous, ma! I'm not pregnant.''

She planted her hands on her hips and gave me one of those 'domineering matriarch' looks.

''Oh, for goodness sake, Mimi. I'm not stupid. You were...well.._sharing a bed_...with the shipbuilder. Look, young lady, I know the signs. I've been through it myself twice, and you were like this when you had Marie. You've missed your monthly visit, haven't you? And don't lie to me.''

My mother had experienced two pregnancies, but one had been a miscarriage early on. I would've been a sibling, if she'd she carried that one to term. She was as sick as a dog with her pregnancies, and I'd been the same when I was expecting Marie. I looked to my feet, unable to meet my mother's eye. What an awkward moment for the both of us, but I decided there was no point in covering up the truth. She would find out soon enough anyway. It wasn't even her reaction I'd been worried about, as much as my father's.

''I want this baby, ma,'' I told her firmly. ''It's my only connection left to Thomas. I'm older now than I was when I had Marie. I'll be a good mum, I promise you.''

I heard her give a long, exasperated sigh.

''What did you think you were_ doing_? He was still a married man, Mimi. You already had one child out of wedlock. What made you think you _wouldn't_ fall pregnant to the shipbuilder? Did ye bargain on luck?''

So many questions that I couldn't even answer. It was then that I looked up from my feet, making sure I locked eyes with her. Instinctively, I rested my palm on my still-flat stomach. I wanted to do my best, to protect my baby against everything I could; social disapproval, lies, gossip. Hatred.

''Not this again! He planned to divorce Mrs. Andrews and marry me. You know this, ma! She was unfaithful to him, before he was unfaithful to her. I'd call it even, wouldn't you? We were going to be together. We would've had a baby, whether anyone else approved or not. He wanted a son, ma. He gave me his pocket watch to give our son on his eighteenth birthday. You won't make me give up another child. You _won't_.''

Mother grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to her.

''_I_ won't,'' she hissed. ''But your father might! He'll hit the roof when he finds out you're going to be an unmarried mother again. Haven't you thought about that?''

I yanked my arm away from her. Emotional blackmail worked on me when I was eighteen, but it wouldn't work on me this time. I was a different woman now, no longer the scared and inexperienced girl I was ten years ago.

''I'll only be unmarried because the man I loved died on the _Titanic_, mother!'' I spat back, making sure she knew how irritated I was with her tossing around the Catholic stigma. ''I can't help it that he isn't here, can I? He's buried in a cemetery - he didn't get me pregnant and leave me deliberately. Maybe father shouldn't be so quick to judge his_ adult _daughter,"

Mother shook her head defensively.

''Your father will only want what's best for you. You've no husband, and no home of your own. How are you going to get by?''

I took her hand in mine and squeezed her fingers tightly.

''Well, I'll need your help. Just till I find my feet, I mean. It might be my only chance to be a mummy. And you'll be a grandma, this time. Help me, ma. _Please_. Don't let my father judge me. Let me keep my baby. I'm older now, and it's all I have left of Thomas. I need my child.''

Tears had formed in the corners of my mother's eyes, and this served to tell me everything she felt. She didn't have to open her mouth to say a word. I just knew.

''Yes, I'll help you,'' she whispered, after an emotional pause. ''You won't have to go through this on your own. Heaven knows, you've been through enough already. You deserve some happiness. If yer father complains, he won't be able to do anything. I won't let him,''

She drew me into her arms for a warm mother-to-daughter embrace, which was something I'd needed so much. It was a relief to know that my mother had changed since our experience with Marie nine years ago. Maybe now she realised I was a fully grown woman, one who would not be manipulated to fit in with Catholic social values of the time. I think she even admired my rebellion; she was too set in her ways and loyal to my father and his religious beliefs. Maybe my personal involvement with the _Titanic_ tragedy had altered her thinking. I assume she wouldn't have been so sympathetic towards me if the ship had made it to New York in one piece.

As mother and I embraced, the front door slammed shut downstairs and my father's footsteps could be heard echoing through the main hallway.

''Margaret? Mimi? I'm back!" he called out, thudding his way up the stairs. He hadn't been to work that day, as it was a day of rest, but he'd been out on his usual Sunday morning walk. My parents were regular church-goers, and as much as they wanted me to be, I was not. Church, for them, would be in an hour's time.

I pulled away from my mother's arms and tried to behave normally, but it was obvious that my father could sense something was going on. Taking off his flat cap and tossing it to the chair, he frowned at the pair of us.

''There's always a funny feeling in this house. What on earth is all the whisperin' about? I've noticed it for a while. Yer both at it again.''

But I was not ready to tell him yet. I would tell him when the time was right, and not before. He didn't even know there had been a man in my life, and it would take every bit of strength to confess another pregnancy out of wedlock. My mother's kindness and support had humbled me, but my father was much more conservative when it came to Irish Catholic values. Perhaps he would come to accept that the love of my life died on the_ Titanic, _and it would not be seen as my fault that I was unmarried. However, I knew that I couldn't tell him the whole truth; that my beloved had been the well-liked and respected Thomas Andrews. The father of my child had been _Titanic_'s married shipbuilder, and this was something I knew my own father would never accept. As much as I hated keeping secrets, I felt that I didn't have a choice in the matter.

''Ack, it's nothin' important, Lorcan,'' my mother said, brushing off his concerns as she kissed his cheek dutifully. ''Just ladies issues, that's all. Ye wouldn't be interested in anythin' like that now, would ye?''

Father wrinkled his nose.

''I'm hopin' that's all it is. Ye better not be gettin' yerself into trouble again, Mimi. Ye hear me?''

I blushed and looked down at the floor, feeing like a naughty child being scolded.

''Yes, father.''

My mother was clearly uncomfortable with our brief exchange. As far as 'getting myself into trouble again', I knew exactly what he'd meant by that. I was already in trouble. My father could never bear to say the words 'pregnant' or 'expecting'. Marie had been my shame, brought onto our so-called perfect little family. I'd been completely to blame for that one, in my father's eyes. _''You got yerself into trouble, young lady!'' _No wonder I couldn't find the courage to tell him of my latest pregnancy, even though years had passed since Marie. He was a difficult man to be around.

**...**

My parents headed off out to church, and I was left in the house on my own. I didn't mind at all; I needed the quiet. I'd planned to have a lie down in bed for a while, but I was interrupted by the doorknocker banging heavily on the front door. Sighing to myself, I plodded downstairs to answer it. Whoever it was, was being very impatient.

''I'm coming! Hold yer horses."

I turned the key in the lock and swung open the door, expecting somebody entirely different. My jaw dropped open as I saw a well dressed, auburn haired woman standing on the doorstep. I recognised her instantly.

''Good morning, Miss Monaghan,'' she said, rather curtly.

How on earth did she know my name? And how did she know where I lived? My heart thumped faster and my fingers trembled. Why was she _here_? I could barely speak one word; I'd dreaded such a thing happening.

''Has the cat got your tongue?'' the woman asked, raising an eyebrow in disdain.

''I-I think you've got the wrong address,'' I said quickly, clasping my shaky hands behind my back.

The woman glanced at the metal numbers nailed to the back of the door and smiled.

''Oh, I don't believe so. May I come in? There are one or two little matters I'd like to discuss with you.''

_No. Oh my God, no. Please. I can't do this. She shouldn't be here. _

''Just...tell me something, first.'' I said, my voice beginning to tremble as much as my hands. ''How do you know my name? And where I live?''

Again, the woman smiled. It wasn't a sweet, kindly smile; there was hostility there. I could see it in her face that she disliked me. Her eyes told me everything._  
_

''I have a very reliable source, Miss Monaghan.''_  
_

I knew then, exactly who this 'reliable source' had to have been. There was nobody else accountable for knowing my personal details - her information must have come from Jonathan Donahue. The woman standing on my parents' doorstep was none other than Helen Andrews, and this would be the start of yet another nightmare time in my life. The happiness and elation of my pregnancy would be short lived; snatched away from me day by day, ending up in my most tragic personal hurt. And I would never forgive people for hounding me so much that the inevitable would happen.

_Never. _


	36. The Black Widow

**DISCLAIMER: This chapter paints the character of Mrs. Andrews in a rather unpleasant light, and her personality here is NOT intended to be a true reflection of the actual Mrs. Andrews. For creative purposes only, she's my own characterisation. No offence is intended.  
**

I also borrowed a line from Cal Hockley in the James Cameron film and used it towards the end of this chapter.

Thanks to all readers, reviewers, etc.

* * *

**_Chapter 36: The Black Widow_  
**

"I have nothing to say to you, Mrs. Andrews.''

I was nervous, but I wanted to stand my ground. I'd never asked her to come here, looking for me. I hadn't even realised she knew of my existence. But I knew, without even questioning, that Jonathan Donahue was the man behind this. There was no-one else who could've known anything about me. It was my own stupid mistake for revealing a little too much about myself to him.

Helen Andrews squinted her eyes at me.

"Well, if you prefer, we could have a chat out here on the doorstep. But that mightn't be the brightest thing to do, under the circumstances. I'm sure you'd agree.''

There were people walking by on the other side of the street as she spoke, and I sure as anything didn't want a scene. I didn't rejoice in the thought of letting her into my parents' house, but I felt like I had little choice. Without another word, I opened the door wider and gestured for her to come inside. She waited politely in the hallway as I closed the door behind her, and she followed me through to the small sitting room at the front of the house. The fragrance of an expensive floral perfume permeated the air around her. Perfume was a luxury I could ill-afford on my lowly housekeeper's wage.

"Please, sit down,'' I said quietly, motioning towards my father's favourite chair.

She did so, with a straight back and ladylike posture, and placed her hands in her lap. I still couldn't quite believe it. This woman, sitting in my parents' house, was legally the widow of Mr. Andrews. She was the mother of his first child, for heaven's sake. My heart was thudding in my chest, and I was already uncomfortable with her presence. I needed to know why she was here.

"Mrs. Andrews, I don't understand what's going on,'' I told her honestly, fidgeting with the creases in my dress. ''I don't wish to argue over anything."

The woman looked me up and down, clearly scrutinising my physical appearance and my attire.

"Well, despite the plain clothes, I suppose you're quite pretty," she sniffed. "And young, too. You do realise Tommie would've been forty years old on his next birthday?"

I nodded my head.

"I was aware of that, yes.''

Mrs. Andrews paused, then asked, ''And how old _are_ you, Miss Monaghan?"

It wasn't any of her business, of course, but I replied anyway.

"I'm twenty seven. Mrs. Andrews, I really don't know why you're asking me these things.''

She gave a derisive chuckle, before failing to answer my question.

"I used to wonder how long it would take Tommie to find another poor woman. Someone who was willing to put up with his obsessions! The fact that you're twelve years younger than he was doesn't surprise me. And _Titanic_, well, of course there had to be that connection there. But I didn't bank on him sharing his bed with one of the stewardesses. A cleaning maid! How absurd. I thought he'd have had more dignity than that."

I rolled my eyes and bolted up from the couch, angrily. It had taken this woman two minutes to insult me in my own home!

"If you've come here just to throw insults at me and my social class, then get out!" I shouted, pointing towards the door.

Mrs. Andrews seemed to enjoy watching my obvious discomfort. The sneering look on her face said it all.

"Oh, come come, Miss Monaghan,'' she said calmly, still seated in a prim and proper manner in my father's chair. "I'm just trying to understand what happened in my husband's final days. Really, that's all. I'm his widow, dear. Something that you're not, because you were never married to him."

My nostrils flared and my heart was still racing with fury, but I sat back down again, my inner voice attempting to calm me down.

_Turn the other cheek, Mimi. Sticks and stones..._

"Good girl,'' Mrs. Andrews said, condescendingly. "Now, where was I? Yes. You see, dear, thanks to Jonathan, I know all about you. I know what you did. My dear Jonathan, he's done well with this job. I wanted as much information on you as possible, so I paid him above the odds. And it was worth it!"

What on earth was she talking about? I didn't have the faintest idea. I frowned at her, shaking my head with confusion.

"Paid him to do _what_?"

She gave another derisive chuckle. Watching me squirm was clearly amusing to her.

"Oh, my dear Miss Monaghan,'' she said, as a smile spread across her face. "Jonathan didn't tell you, for obvious reasons. You're aware he was the man I left Tommie for... but you didn't know that he currently works as a private detective."

My mouth fell open. Oh, my Lord. Jonathan Donahue, a _private detective_? The blood froze in my veins at the realisation of what Mrs. Andrews had just said. And now, Mr. Donahue's persistence with me made absolute sense; why he'd followed me around aboard the _Carpathia_ before reaching New York... given me money to get back to Belfast... showed up outside the church on the day of Mr. Andrews' funeral. All the questions, and his apparent friendliness, which had felt rather forced at times. Now I knew why. He'd been tasked by Helen Andrews, to report back any significant findings.

"This is madness!" I gasped, unable to think coherently. "You had me _followed_?"

"Well, to begin with, I employed Jonathan to keep his eye on Tommie," Mrs. Andrews jumped in quickly. She seemed quite happy to divulge her information to me. "My relationship with Jonathan came to an end months ago, because I'd intended on going back to my husband. Poor Jonathan, I know he's been pining for me. Continuing my marriage to Tommie was the right thing for me to do. I made my decision to go back to him, but I didn't tell him before he left for the voyage on _Titanic_."

Oh, believe me. When the estranged wife was telling me this, I was all ears.

"Mrs. Andrews..." I began slowly, still feeling confused. "Thomas was upset that you'd left him for another man. Why didn't you ask him for a reconciliation before he went on _Titanic_?"

She coyly looked down at her lap for a moment, then looked back up at me. Her eyes locked with mine.

"You want to know the reason? Fine!" she scoffed, her voice becoming louder. "I'll give you the reason. I heard whispers months ago, dear. Whispers that my Tommie's eye had been caught by another lady. An employee of the White Star Line, I was told. So, knowing there would be female White Star Line workers aboard _Titanic _on the first voyage, I sent Jonathan to watch Tommie. And I got the answer I was looking for."

I was quite perplexed by now, and I'm sure the bewildered expression across my face told her this. I raised my hand to my forehead and massaged the space between my eyebrows; a headache was starting, but I also needed to get everything straight in my mind. Mrs. Andrews was telling me that her husband had been interested in me for months, before we had our affair on _Titanic_. Yet, her claim didn't ring true to me. He'd mentioned nothing of this when we did get together, and he'd been mourning the state of his marriage. He'd refused to make relationship commitments to me at first, because of his wife. I wasn't even sure whether to believe Helen's claims or not. They seemed exaggerated, if not purely fictional.

"Mrs. Andrews, I promise you," I sighed, rubbing at the ache in my forehead. "I didn't know about any of this. If Thomas told people he was in love with me for months before _Titanic_, I wasn't aware of it. I'm not lying to you."

"I can't tell if you're lying or otherwise," she replied. "But you did have an affair with him on the ship. And if I'd told him, _before_ he set sail, that I wanted him back... then maybe he'd be here now. Maybe he would never have gone. Maybe he'd still be alive."

With those words, an eerie silence descended upon the room. I had absolutely no idea what to say to her. Perhaps she was right. Her husband would surely still be there on that day in June, 1912, if he hadn't sailed on_ Titanic_. I had to remind myself that I was not the only one in Mr. Andrews' life who was suffering. I felt a pang of sympathy for his wife, as she sat there in my father's chair, her bottom lip quivering and tears forming in her eyes.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I blurted out, shaking my head.

She composed herself again quickly enough.

"I didn't come here for your sympathy, young lady," she snapped. "I came here to tell you I know all about you and what you did with my husband. I had you followed when you came back here to Ireland after the sinking. All my information came from Jonathan, and he's done wonderfully. Oh, and he gave me Tommie's letter for Elba. Just a pity it reeks of a serving maid's coat pocket!"

Any sympathy I had for Mrs. Andrews was certainly short lived after remarks like that one.

"I think it's about time you left," I said calmly.

"Oh, I'm not finished yet!" she laughed. "I have two more things I need to address, before I go. One, is the pocket watch."

"The pocket watch?" I repeated.

Mrs. Andrews nodded.

"Jonathan told me you have Tommie's pocket watch in your possession."

I tilted my chin upward and gave a shrug of my shoulders.

"Thomas wanted me to pass it down if I had a son."

The estranged wife wasn't even listening.

"It's not yours to keep, Miss Monaghan. I'm legally his widow. I want that pocket watch back."

I shook my head at her. This was ridiculous! Who was she to come into my parents' house and start making such demands? The watch had been given to me for a reason. I wasn't parting with it - not for anyone, or anything.

"The watch stays with me," I told Mrs. Andrews, firmly. "Thomas wanted me to have it."

She stood up from the chair and walked over to where I was sitting, looking down her nose at me.

"We'll see about that. I have a good barrister, dear. I'll get back what's mine."

It was my turn to stand up now. I did so, looking her square in the eye.

"You do that, Mrs. Andrews. But if you must know, Thomas was going to divorce you."

Another mocking laugh escaped her lips.

"I highly doubt that!" she scoffed loudly. "Tommie didn't believe in divorce. But even if he did, he wouldn't have divorced me for you. The novelty of a younger woman would've worn off very quickly with my Tommie. I'm sure he was just using you for sexual relations, Miss Monaghan!"

My will for retaliation was growing stronger and stronger by the minute. I wasn't going to be weak about this.

"Is that because you refused to_ give_ him any, Mrs. Andrews?"

Without warning, the black widow slapped me hard, across the face. Maybe I'd asked for it, but I didn't care. I hadn't expected her to slap me, so the short, sharp pain came as rather a surprise. Gasping, I raised my hand to my cheek and rubbed the area she'd struck. She'd been quick and her aim was good, so she seemed to be experienced in that area. Perhaps she'd whacked Mr. Andrews around the face whenever he'd done something to displease her? She appeared to be that kind of woman - a domineering force who wanted her own way.

"It_ is_ a little slut, isn't it?" she snarled at me, watching me nurse my reddening face.

"Me?" I replied. "You're the one who went behind Thomas's back with Donahue, before I came along. You started this."

Mrs. Andrews moved in closer to me.

"Well, then. I'll just have to be the one to end it."

I wasn't going to let that woman bully and harass me. I had one more card up my sleeve to play.

"Is that so, Mrs. Andrews?'' I stupidly taunted her. ''Y'see, Thomas has passed on, but I'll have a constant reminder of his time with me."

I rested the palm of my hand on my stomach, making sure she could see the blatant gesture.

"I'm pregnant with your dead husband's child."

Yes, I know; with hindsight, it was probably the most inappropriate bombshell for me to drop at that moment. But Mrs. Andrews didn't seem in the least bit surprised by my admission. The expression in her eyes didn't even change.

"Oh, of course. That was the other thing I was going to bring up! Jonathan mentioned you might be expecting."

"There's no might," I told her firmly. "I am. A child is growing in my belly, and it came from your precious Tommie. He gave me the pocket watch to pass on to the child, if we have a boy. Thomas wanted a son. He told me so himself."

Mrs. Andrews' face was pink with anger. She stepped away from me and headed towards the doorway.

"I despise you, Miss Monaghan. And I'll make sure everybody else in County Down does, too. You're a dirty, nasty little tramp._ You_ killed my Tommie. I'll make you pay for this. You'll wish you'd never whored yourself out to my husband! Mark my words."

Ending her vicious tirade, she stormed out of the front door in a flash of bitterness and fury. I may have been calm on the outside, but inside, her threats did frighten me. Surely she would be all talk and no action? I was so stressed by the morning's shocking turn of events that I poured myself a sherry to calm my nerves. And, of course, I didn't like sherry one bit.


	37. I'm Failing You

_**Author's Note: **This was never meant to be a fairytale story for Mimi, especially after the loss of Mr. Andrews and Titanic's sinking. From hereon in, it gets quite bleak and dramatic for a while, and sometimes, rather harrowing. Mimi's life is falling apart and she feels powerless to stop it.**  
**_

_**Warning: There are mentionings of blood in the 'dream' portion of this chapter.  
**_

_Thanks as always to the R&Rs. This is my last update for a couple of weeks, as I'm going to visit family in Northern Ireland. Of course, no visit to Northern Ireland is complete without going to the Titanic Visitor Centre in Belfast! Till next time...**  
**_

* * *

_**Chapter 37: "I'm Failing You..."**_

I didn't tell my parents about Mrs. Andrews' impromptu visit, even though she'd scared me witless. I was trying to figure out, by myself, what to do next. Were her threats nothing more than an attempt at trying to intimidate me, brought on by her jealousy? Perhaps. But Mrs. Andrews had money, friends in high places, and Jonathan Donahue as her lackey. I was a simple housemaid residing with my parents, and the only person I could count on seemed to be my mother. I knew that my father wouldn't stand up for me if he found out the truth about me with Mr. Andrews. I wouldn't be able to conceal my pregnancy from him for much longer, but I sure as anything would do my best to conceal the identity of the baby's father. I wished I didn't have to; I wasn't ashamed of my relationship with Mr. Andrews. But society at the time dictated what I should and shouldn't feel ashamed of. This was my second out of wedlock baby, and the fact that the father had been unhappily married and planning a divorce, would've made no difference. A sin was a sin, in society's eyes. Women were sinners, but men were saints.

The following Monday, I was back at work in the Morgans' house, and Mrs. Morgan sent me out on some shopping errands. She required to me to buy ingredients for cooking that evening's dinner, including carrots, onions and potatoes. Taking my shopping basket with me, I made my way to the greengrocer half a mile down the road, where I'd been before to stock up on food staples. I stepped foot inside the shop, just minding my own business as I always did. A tall gentleman smiled and tipped his hat to me on his way out, but I could feel the shopkeeper's eyes burning a hole in the back of my head as I browsed the shelves. How very strange. I walked forward to the counter to ask for the vegetables I needed, and the shopkeeper kept her eyes firmly on me.

"I don't want your kind here in my shop," she told me, putting her hands on the counter.

I blinked back at her, confused. Had I heard her right?

"I, er...I beg your pardon, ma'am?"

She lifted one hand from the counter, pointing an accusing finger at me.

"Your kind. I won't serve you. Please leave the premises."

I laughed out of nervousness._ My kind?_ I didn't have a clue what was going on here!

"What?" I said, aware that there were at least three other people in the shop staring at me. "What've I done? There's money in my purse! I've been in here before. Don't you remember, ma'am? I'm not going to steal from you,"

The woman gave me another steely glare.

"I know that." she replied. "I remember you, and you paid for your goods. That's not what I meant. I've heard about you, lass. We've _all_ heard about you. Messin' around with that gentleman who designed the _Titanic. _You knew he was married, young lady. He has a widow and a child! Have you no shame?"

Well, as you can imagine, my mouth almost dropped to the floor. I really couldn't believe what I was hearing. My private business was somehow doing the rounds, but it didn't take any guesswork to realise where this gossip originated from. And now that my secret was out, I truly wasn't prepared for the backlash. Nothing could've prepared me for that. This was only the beginning.

My fingers trembled around the handle of my basket as I gripped it tightly; not with fear, but with anger. I was furious that this woman thought she had a right to broadcast such things. And, not surprisingly, Mr. Andrews was being made to sound like the victim of some merciless floozy! Goodness, the man hadn't been forced to have a relationship with me on_ Titanic_. But because I was a woman with a working class background, it was me being villified. That was just the way of it, in those days.

"I don't know what you _think_ you know, but my personal life is nobody's business!" I protested loudly, looking around me at the audience gathering. But the shopkeeper was adamant.

"Oh, don't come the innocent with me, young lady," she scoffed. "I have it on good authority that you threw yerself at Mr. Andrews, God rest his soul. A married man, you stupid girl! He was only taking what you offered him. Men can't help themselves when it's handed to them on a plate! I used to think you were a nice lass, but you're nothin' more than a wanton little Jezebel. Leave my shop, and don't come back. Take your employer's custom elsewhere. For their sakes, I hope they don't know their housekeeper is a prostitute!"

Of course, I knew I was no such thing, but that didn't stop my cheeks from burning with embarrassment. There were several customers in the shop now, and every one of them was aiming daggers at me with their eyes. I looked down at the floor shyly, turned on my heel, and walked out again, the empty basket dangling from my arm.

"Aye, ya little tramp!" an older woman shouted after me, venomously.

I'm sure my face must've been beetroot red by now. Keeping my head down so as not to make eye contact with anyone else, I slowly made my way back across the street again. Well, how would I explain this to Mrs. Morgan? There was no other greengrocer for two miles, and there was nothing in my basket for Mr. Morgan's dinner. But I'd had no choice. The shopkeeper had already made up her mind about me. Instinct told me my name would be dragged through the mud by a lot of people, especially those I didn't even know. There was quite a grapevine around County Down. My heart was heavy with anger, and with shame, as I headed back to the Morgans' residence, browbeaten and empty handed. I fed Mrs. Morgan a nonsense story about the greengrocer being out of carrots, onions_ and_ potatoes, but from the way she looked at me, I don't think she believed me. Regardless, she didn't question my version of events.

"Well, alright then, love," she sighed, her eyebrows raised slightly. "You'll just have to boil up some tomato soup instead."

Mrs. Morgan had a soft spot for me, but would she still feel the same when she found about me and Mr. Andrews? That remained to be seen.

**...**

Back home after a hard day's graft at the Morgans', I was quiet. I barely touched the food on my plate at dinnertime, and I didn't tell my mother about what happened at the greengrocer. I'd wanted to, but my father was within earshot for much of the evening, so the chance to confide in mother didn't arise. She could tell something was amiss, though. I could see it in her eyes.**  
**

I went to bed early, thinking that maybe a good night's sleep would help me feel better. But nothing could've been further from the truth, as I had such a dreadful nightmare, rendering me unable to sleep for much of the night. It was the most disturbing dream I'd had in a while, one which I wished I'd woken up from sooner than I did. Actually, I wished I'd never had that nightmare at all. To say it frightened the life out of me, was putting it mildly.

I found myself in familiar surroundings, aboard the _Titanic _once again. I'd been standing in the smoking room, while the ship was in the middle of the sinking. The floor was tilted at an angle, as it had been the last time I'd seen Mr. Andrews there, and objects were sliding off the mantlepiece. I had an unwelcome sense of deja vu; for some reason, I was revisiting _Titanic_ in her last moments. Filled with terror and uncertainty, my first instinct was to place a hand on my stomach; I was surprised to feel that my waist had expanded and I was in the advanced stages of pregnancy. I must've been about seven months along, which was odd. I wore my coat and gloves, but no lifebelt; I assumed this was because my pregnant belly was sticking out by a mile. But the room was falling apart around me, and I remember being rooted to the spot, helplessly watching the destruction and hearing those deathly, structural groans all over again. Why was I having this nightmare? Why did my subconscious transfer me back to that ill-fated Ship From Hell, while I was sleeping? _Titanic_ was the last place I'd wanted to be.

I looked to the clock on the mantlepiece, and noticed that it read twenty minutes past two; the time _Titanic_ plummeted to the seabed in reality. Jumping out of the way to avoid a heavy ashtray falling on my feet, I turned my head and then gasped out loud. Appearing out of nowhere, staggering towards me, was Mr. Andrews. He was still dressed in everything from the very last time I'd seen him, when he'd died in my arms. Only, this time, he was dishevelled; his long overcoat was water-sodden and torn, his underclothes were dirty, his hair was messy and full of dust, and his face...oh, his face. Fresh blood trickled down his forehead from a large gash above his eyebrows, his cheeks were bruised and his bottom lip was swollen. My eyes welled with tears as I saw him before me, bloodied and battered. A piece of debris fell from the ceiling and clipped his shoulder, but he barely flinched. Instead, he reached his arms out to me, and I ran over to him, wrapping myself around his tall, shivering frame. I buried my face in his chest and inhaled his scent, as yet more debris clattered down from the ceiling. His grip on me was protective and tight.

"Mimi, I _warned_ you about Jonathan Donahue," he said, struggling for breath. "Why did you let them into your life? Helen is desperate for revenge against you! I fear that I won't be able to protect you from her and from Donahue. I'm failing you, Mimi. I'm failing you and the baby. I have a strong instinct...one that tells me they won't stop until someone is dead,"

I moved my face away from his chest and looked up at his eyes, unable to ignore the blood streaked down his cheeks and the swelling of his lip. He looked so haggard.

"What-what d'you mean by that?" I stuttered nervously, as the child in my belly gave a sudden kick.

Mr. Andrews cupped my face in his hands; goodness, there was dried blood crusted all over his fingers as well. He traced his thumbs over my cheekbones as he looked deeply into my eyes. Swallowing hard and grinding his jaw forward, his mental anguish was clear to me.

"Damnit, Mimi! It was me who brought this terror and upset into your life," he said apologetically, his voice breaking. His breath was still laboured in places. "Not just with _Titanic_, but with Helen and Donahue. I'm to blame, and I've failed in my duty as your guardian angel. My higher power tells me I have one more chance to earn my wings and keep watch over you, so this is what I must do...I must tell you to leave Ireland, Mimi. Get out of there. If you don't, your safety is at risk. Move away as soon as you can. Helen and Donahue are a threat to you and the baby, and there's no choice but to go!"

This part of the dream - the nightmare - seemed freakishly real to me. It was as though he was actually there, talking to me, giving me a stark, frightening warning. And in the dream, the baby kicked again, much harder this time. Mr. Andrews felt the movement against him, and he looked down.

"That's our child," he whispered, placing his hand on my belly. He moved his palm until it was resting over the roundest part of my middle. "You know what you must do to save yourselves, Mimi,"

I slipped my own hand over his, and the baby gave another sharp jab to my insides.

"You really believe Helen and Donahue intend on harming us?"

He nodded his head, his brown eyes watery and pleading.

"They're plotting against you, Mimi. I've seen it when I've watched over Elba. Together, they're capable of anything. Donahue is doing Helen's dirty work. It's too dangerous for you and the baby to stay in Ireland right now. Promise me you'll leave! Go to England, Scotland, Wales, France, Germany...I don't know, anywhere! And change your name. They mustn't be able to trace you."

"But Donahue's a private investigator, his job is to stalk people!" I pointed out, as the baby carried on retaliating in my abdomen.

As I spoke, I was suddenly aware of a warm, damp sensation from down below. Without any warning, an intense contraction-like pain tore through my middle. My face contorted and I doubled over, whimpering and trying to catch my breath.

"Mimi, what's wrong?" Mr. Andrews gasped, reaching out to me with concern. His eyes widened, as he noticed spots of red liquid dripping onto his shoes. "Oh, good God. You're-you're bleeding!"

Confused, I lifted my dress to my knees; sure enough, blood was leaking down my thighs, dripping onto the carpet and Mr. Andrews' shoes. This was unexpected, and I was losing a lot. Something wasn't right - babies did not begin their entrance to the world in this way. This would surely be an emergency situation...what on earth was happening to me?

"Thomas, I don't feel well," I breathed, my head starting to swim.

The ship gave a deep, mournful sounding groan all around us, and I swayed backwards into Mr. Andrews.

"No, Mimi, you have to stay with me!" he panicked, as my body went limp in his arms and my eyes closed. Everything went pitch black.

**...**

I awoke with a start, bolt upright. Of course, I was not on_ Titanic; _I was in my bed, at home_. _ My body was covered with a cold sweat, and my nightdress had stuck to me. The room was completely dark, aside from the moon's eerie glow, cast over the wall from a gap in the curtains. Still sitting up in bed, I moved my hand over my stomach; it was as flat as it'd been earlier in the day. I had to reassure myself that I was not seven months pregnant and just about to give birth prematurely aboard the _Titanic._ Pulling the covers up around me, I breathed deeply to calm myself down. Such a nightmare had shocked me to the core; I didn't know the significance of Mr. Andrews being bruised and bloody, or the implication that I was about to have the baby much too early. But the nightmare was so disturbing_ because_ it had a realness to it, and there were certain things that had rung true. Perhaps it was nothing more than my worried and overactive imagination, bringing my concerns to life in my sleep. Dreams and nightmares can be strange things, as everybody knows. Anything can happen in one's mind when one is asleep.

I just couldn't settle afterwards. It may have been half past one in the morning, and the house was as silent as could be, but I was too jarred to sleep. All I could do was toss and turn in bed, before getting up and going downstairs to make myself some hot milk. I sat in the kitchen, by candlelight, with my steaming mug in front of me on the table. And I began to think.

Onboard the _Carpathia_ after being rescued from the lifeboat, I'd fallen asleep on a bench and dreamt about Mr. Andrews. In that dream, he'd told me he was returning the honour as my personal guardian angel, and he'd firmly warned against Jonathan Donahue. He'd been adamant that I stay away from the man. I hadn't dreamt of Mr. Andrews again until this strange night in June, two months after_ Titanic_'s sinking. What if I wasn't really dreaming? What if, in some way, Mr. Andrews' spirit was visiting me in my sleep? Perhaps his spirit could only communicate with me in such a manner. It sounded quite outlandish, but in another way, it also made sense. There was nothing to prove it, though. I did wonder if I should listen to the message in the dream and take it seriously; after all, the hate campaign against me had already started. Mrs. Andrews was out to seek her revenge on me, with the help of her lovesick henchman. That shady character would probably do anything for her. But would Mrs. Andrews stoop that low, to harm me or the baby, as my dream apparition of Mr. Andrews had suggested? I didn't know. And I really didn't want to leave my native Ireland. At least, not because I was advised to by a spirit, or dream apparition, or whatever he was. That would be ridiculous. I was torn on the matter, driving myself crazy, and overthinking things at two o'clock in the morning. I eventually fell asleep at the kitchen table, too exhausted to think any more.


	38. Burning Bridges

_**Author's Note:**_ I'm back now from my latest trip to Northern Ireland, and it was certainly inspirational. 2012 has been Northern Ireland's year, as far as anything Titanic-related goes. And rightly so, considering Titanic was built there! I visited the new **Titanic Belfast** visitor centre (where I touched Kate Winslet's, Leo Dicaprio's and Ewan Stewart's movie costumes!)_, _had an emotional moment on the original slipway where Titanic was built, _and_ went on a "Thomas Andrews pilgrimage" to the town of Comber, where the real Thomas Andrews was born and grew up. Amazing!

Anyway, on with the story. Thanks as always to readers.

* * *

_**Chapter 38: Burning Bridges**_

I came home from another day's work at the Morgans', to be greeted by a frosty atmosphere. Both of my parents were in the sitting room, and my mother looked forlorn. My father's face was ruddy in complexion, and he was pacing the floor around her. I could sense an awkwardness, and even anger. I hadn't even taken my coat off before he started on me.

"You've got a lot of questions to answer, young lady."

My brow furrowed with confusion, and that familiar nervous feeling filled the pit of my stomach.

"I'm not sure what you mean, father?"

My father shook his head, but he couldn't look me in the eye.

"You can't even begin to imagine how disappointed I am in you."

His voice was low, and calm at first.

"I-I don't understand," I whispered, looking from him to my mother on her chair

"Oh, Mimi," she sighed, putting her head in her hands. "It's all over the town. Spreadin' like wildfire. There's no point in hiding it any more. Yer father...he knows. Everybody knows. I don't know what we're going to do, Mimi,"

It was then, that my father exploded; the very moment I'd been dreading for weeks.

"I thought I knew my own daughter!" he raged at me, his eyes wide and blazing. "But once again, Mimi Monaghan brings shame to her family! What have we done to deserve this, young lady? Because of you, we might have to leave this house, and this part of town! All...because...of _you_."

Again, I looked from him to my mother.

"What? Why? I-I..."

"We don't want to risk being targetted, Mimi," mother interrupted me. "Goodness, what a mess,"

My father walked forward, towards me, and this was the moment I started to feel rather afraid. I took a few steps back and hunched my shoulders defensively, almost expecting him to hit me or slap my face. He didn't.

"I'm sure you had an interesting time onboard the _Titanic_, young lady. Gettin' yerself pregnant by a married man. Thomas Andrews, for heaven's sake! The man who designed that bloody ship. Honestly, you couldn't make this sort of thing up! Did you not do any _real _work for White Star Line, eh? Was it all sexual favours for the men on those boats? Bloody tart that y'are!"

My mother gasped loudly at his words, and I backed right up into the wall behind me. I was physically shaking, and my apprehension was clear to my parents.

"Lorcan, that's not fair!" I heard my mother say, but my eyes were now screwed tightly shut.

"It...wasn't like that," I breathed, stopping to swallow hard. "Thomas's wife had already left him, father. We were in love. I was_ not_ a prostitute,"

"In love!" my father mocked, shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. You were just whoring yerself out because you were desperate for attention. I'm sure Tom Andrews would never have looked twice at you if you hadn't offered yerself on a silver platter! No wonder his widow is hopping mad, you stupid girl. What did you expect would happen? I should march you to church for confession with Father O'Reilly right now! But ye'd only run off on me. That's how devious you are!"

I opened my eyes again, and slowly looked up into my father's face. He was towering over me, nostrils flaring and cheeks still red with anger.

"I'm-I'm so sorry, father," I whispered meekly. "I didn't mean to let everybody down. I just fell in love with a man. I was in love with him for months, father. Since I started working for White Star. But nothing happened with him until the voyage on _Titanic_. His wife had already left him by then. You have to believe me!"

My father ignored everything I'd just said, and carried on berating me.

"And now, well, look what we're left to deal with? We accepted you back into the family home after _Titanic_ happened. We've given you food, clothes, bed and board. I even got you the job you're in now with the Morgans! And this is how you repay us? An affair with the shipbuilder! Carrying another _bastard child_ in your belly. I know ye don't like it, but you're still a Catholic. And I'm damn sure Tom Andrews wasn't a Catholic! When does it end, Mimi? All ye've done is bring more shame to the Monaghan name!"

I was still shaking, pressed up against the wall. My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry. Oh, I knew everything my father had said was right. I hadn't meant to bring more shame upon my family, but I understood how it looked to him. And now, mother had begun to snivel and whimper, across the room, in her chair. I knew what I had to do, and I knew what I had to say.

"I understand..." I whispered, looking to the floor. "I'm a disgrace to everyone. I deserve everything I get. I should pack my things."

"Oh, no, Mimi, we don't want you to do that!" mother said, in between her sobs.

My father turned on his heel and looked at his wife.

"Stay out of this, Margaret," he demanded. "You're almost as bad as she is. Keeping it hidden for weeks! You knew what she'd done, and you knew she was carrying a bastard child. Aiding and abetting her deceit!"

He paused for a moment, then shook his head and turned back to me.

"I should sling the pair o'you out of my house."

Mother's sobs resonated all over the room, louder than before. What on earth had I done? I'd ruined everything for my family. I'd ruined everything for Mr. Andrews' family. I was cursed; it seemed I couldn't do anything right, I couldn't please anyone and I couldn't make anyone happy. Mr. Andrews was dead, my parents were ashamed of me, and complete strangers hated me. But why? I wasn't a murderer. I'd never stolen anything in my life, nor had I been in trouble with the police. I'd helped with the evacuation of the passengers on_ Titanic_. Quite simply, I was despised for being a working class woman who'd fallen for an unhappily married man; one with a different social background. And I was pregnant with his child, the biggest sin of all. These were the crimes society had charged me with, and of course, I had to plead guilty on both counts.

"Please don't make my ma leave!" I begged my father, as tears formed in the corners of my eyes. "This is all my fault and I'll take the consequences. Don't make my ma suffer because of what I've done. Please, father. I'll find somewhere else. It's not my ma's fault."

"But where will ye go?" mother asked, still stifling her own sobs. "You can't afford a place to stay on yer own! You haven't got much money after what happened on _Titanic_,"

"I know," I whispered. "but I'll find somewhere in England, or Scotland. Maybe even Wales,"

Yes, I'd remembered what my dream apparition of Mr. Andrews had advised me the night before. He'd wanted me to leave Ireland, to get away for my own safety. Whether or not my safety was truly in danger, I didn't know. But the entire town now despised me, and Mrs. Andrews and her henchman were on the warpath. Maybe leaving Ireland would be the best thing for me, under the circumstances. I didn't have to leave forever, but until things had settled down, at least. I understood that Scotland would probably be the most convenient option, all things considered.

"Wait a minute, what did you say?" my mother gasped, rising out of her chair and hurrying over to me. "Yer father doesn't want you to leave Ireland, y'know. And neither do I!"

"It...it might be the best thing for everyone," I sighed, swallowing hard. "I don't feel safe around here, ma. Mrs. Andrews wants to harm me. She threatened me. Here. In this house, when you were at church,"

My mother's jaw dropped, and my father narrowed his eyes at me.

"Why didn't you_ tell_ us?" mother asked me, dabbing at her face with her hanky.

I shook my head.

"I-I couldn't."

My father was far less sympathetic than my mother.

"You're yer own worst enemy, young lady," he said, matter-of-factly. "If the wife wants to get her own back on you, it doesn't surprise me. It's yer own fault for behaving like a common tart with her husband. You'd better be prayin' you don't carry that baby too long. I know I will be. The last thing we need is another bastard child born out of wedlock, bringing us back down to the gutter!"

"Lorcan, no!" my mother gasped, her eyes wide with shock at what he'd just said.

I hung my head, and those tears of mine began to trickle down the side of my nose. I knew I hadn't misheard my father. How could he have been so cruel, hoping and even praying that I would miscarry my baby? _His own grandchild!_ What kind of a man would even think such a thing, let alone say it? I couldn't hide my upset.

"Father, don't!" I cried out, tears dripping onto my coat. "The baby is all I have left of Thomas, and I never got the chance to be a mother to Marie! I can't do this any more...if that's the way it's going to be, father, then I'm going. I'm leaving. Thomas was right. I need to get the _hell_ out of here!"

I turned on my heel and ran through the lobby, up the stairs to my bedroom, with my emotions all over the place. Father shouted after me; bawling something about 'minding your tongue' and 'never to use that word' in his house, but I paid little heed to that. I'd had enough of his sexist views about me, and saying vile things about my baby. This really was the final straw. Still weeping, I grabbed my trunk from the top of the wardrobe and threw it on the bed. Footsteps thudded along the hallway, and my bedroom door creaked open. It wasn't my father, though. It was my mother.

"I'm going, ma," I said firmly, opening the trunk and grabbing some items of clothing from inside my wardrobe. "You can't stop me. I won't have father wishing death on my unborn child!"

Mother scurried up to me, looked over her shoulder cautiously, and gripped my arms.

"He should never have said that! I'm on your side, remember. Where will ye go?"

I had little money from my wages, and what I did have, I mostly gave to my parents for food and board. I slumped back onto the bed, feeling defeated by that very fact.

"I don't know, ma," I sniffed, wiping my tears on the back of my coat sleeve. "I just don't know any more,"

Mother sat next to me and took my hand in hers, protectively.

"I don't want you to go, Mimi."

"But what else can I do?" I said, choking back another bout of tears. "Father wants me to lose my baby because he's ashamed of me. And Mrs. Andrews wants revenge. There's a man who follows me, ma. I met him on the lifeboat that took us to the _Carpathia_. Turns out he's the one she left Thomas for, and he's also a private investigator. That's how she knows about me and Thomas! She's cunning, ma. She despises me."

I let go of my mother's hand and stood up from the bed, before walking over to my chest of drawers. This was where I kept Mr. Andrews' pocket watch, in my second top drawer, for safe keeping. I slid the drawer open, took out the pocket watch and held it in my hand. The gold casing shone in the daylight streaming through the window, and the chain dangled down between my thumb and forefinger.

"Mrs. Andrews wants this watch," I told my mother, sitting back down next to her on the bed. "She threatened me with a barrister, to take it into her possession. But Thomas gave it to me before he died. If I have a son, he asked me to pass this on to him for his eighteenth birthday,"

I opened the casing of the watch to check that it was still working. It certainly was; if you remember, it stopped for several hours while I'd been on the lifeboat with Charles Lightoller and other rescued passengers. It had started working again on the_ Carpathia_, and had never stopped once since then. I listened for a quiet moment to the hypnotic sound of its ticking, then closed over the watch casing.

"Maybe it's a family heirloom, dear," my mother suggested gently.

"I don't know," I replied. "but Thomas was clear about what he wanted. I won't go against his wishes. Mrs. Andrews will never get her hands on this,"

I rested the pocket watch against my chest for a minute or two, then I wrapped it up in a cardigan to protect it, and placed it carefully in my trunk. Mother looked on in silence, and gave a frustrated sigh before saying, "It's all such a mess, Mimi. I can't believe working for the White Star Line has brought so much bad luck upon us,"

I stood up again and walked back across to my wardobe, removing a few more personal effects for packing in the trunk.

"Things weren't so bad with White Star," I told her, stopping for a moment to take a look out of the window. My eyes settled on the harbour, which could be seen far in the distance. "They were decent enough, as an employer. But they were the ones who denied Thomas more lifeboats for the ship. And, well, they'd never drilled their staff for emergencies. Those were White Star's faults, ma. Nothing to do with Thomas. White Star brought me to the man I love, and I'd never change that."

"Not even if it meant none of this would ever happen?" mother asked me, getting up and joining me by the window. "If you hadn't worked for White Star, you wouldn't have met Thomas Andrews. But then you wouldn't have almost been killed on that bloody ship, and you wouldn't be pregnant with a dead man's child. His wife wouldn't be making threats, and you wouldn't feel you have to leave Ireland. D'ye see what I mean, Mimi?"

I nodded my head.

"Yes, but even with all that...I wouldn't change working for White Star. I wouldn't change meeting Thomas. I wouldn't change my time with him on _Titanic._ I got to spend four days with him on the ship. He _wanted_ me to work as staff on_ Titanic_. He had his eye on me for months, ma. Fate brought us together. "

My mother touched my arm gently.

"But fate also tore you apart, dear. Fate left you penniless, pregnant with his child, and unmarried. He's dead, but you still have to deal with the aftermath of it all. He's being hailed as a saint, but you're being hailed as a sinner. That sticks in my throat, Mimi. His death shouldn't absolve him of his responsibilities. Look what he's left you with. This heartache isn't right! It's more than just his death. It's the fallout from everything else, too. It's affecting everyone, but him."

I listened to every word, and I knew she was right. She was absolutely right. What could I even say to that? My mother had a good, sensible head on her shoulders when she wasn't around my father.

"I'm not sure Thomas deserves such loyalty from you," she continued, after a pensive moment looking out of the window. "but you'd have made him a good wife. Anyone can see that, Mimi. I hope he would've been devoted to you, in return,"

I look back now to my days spent on_ Titanic_, and I wonder; if Mr. Andrews had survived, _would_ he have devoted himself to me? Or would he still have been obsessing over his ships, and his work at Harland and Wolff...and his estranged wife? Now that I've had many years to think about these things, I can say with a heavy heart, that I don't think Mr. Andrews would've been devoted to me, like I was to him. There would be too many factors getting in the way; the pull of his work ethic was so strong, and Mrs. Andrews was clearly a domineering force in their relationship. It's quite possible he would've gone back to her in the end, if he'd survived _Titanic_. But, of course, I will never know for sure. All I had then, and all I have now, are my memories and thoughts of what could've been.

I didn't make any comment to what my mother had said to me. I couldn't. I just carried on with packing my belongings into my trunk.

"I'll have to give notice to the Morgans tomorrow morning," I said, deliberately changing the subject. "Mrs. Morgan has been very kind, but she knows something has been bothering me. She'll understand why I have to go. I'll ask her for a reference to give my next employer. I'm sure I can find another housekeeping job easily enough,"

Mother was getting rather frantic again.

"But you'll need to buy a ferry ticket. You won't have time to see Mrs. Morgan!"

"There's a three o'clock ferry that goes to Scotland," I sighed. "I used to work on these boats before _Titanic_, ma. I know what I'm talking about. There will be time,"

"You've got nowhere to go, though," mother continued to panic. "Where will ye live when you get to Scotland? Don't leave, Mimi. Please!"

I placed the last of my clothes in the trunk, and slumped back down on the bed.

"I don't feel like I have any choice."

My mother's face crumpled, and she dissolved into more tears. I felt terrible, putting her through all this, but what else could I do? Staying was no longer an option.

"It was only because of_ Titanic_ sinking that we got you back," she sniffed, pulling a clean hanky from her sleeve. "I said we weren't going to let you go again! Maybe I can try and change yer father's mind about the baby..."

"I doubt you can, ma," I told her frankly. "I'm just another burden of shame to him. And even if you did, there's still Mrs. Andrews. But it doesn't have to be forever. Just till all this dies down. I'll have the baby in Scotland and live there for a couple of years. You could always come over and visit!"

Mother took my arms and embraced me, bravely trying to stifle her weeping.

"I can't get you to change yer mind, can I?"

All I could do was shake my head and give another heavy-hearted sigh.

My mother's sobs died down, and she cleared her throat to regain her composure.

"Alright, then. Alright. I have a little bit of money saved, Mimi. I was going to buy a new stove with it, but that can wait a bit longer. I can't see my own pregnant daughter, living penniless on the streets of Scotland."

Oh, my mother; goodness, she was so kind hearted. It was my turn to start blubbering again.

"You don't have to give me any money, ma..."

"No!" she insisted, wiping my own tears away with her thumb. "I won't hear anything else of it. You're still my wee girl, Mimi. I only want you to be safe."

It was then that I was sure; my decision to leave Ireland, even as just a temporary measure, was the right one. I didn't really look at it as 'leaving'; more like, 'going away for a while'. I couldn't see myself being away from Ireland permanently, but as long as Mrs. Andrews and Jonathan Donahue were on the warpath, and the aftermath of the_ Titanic_ disaster was still raw with the Irish people, I felt that I had to break free from it all. And my father; well, I couldn't take his spitefulness any longer. I'd been subjected to that ten years ago, while expecting Marie. He hadn't changed as much as I'd have liked him to. I'd shamed him, all over again. But I couldn't stay in a house where my own father wished a premature death on his own unborn grandchild. It turned out that I would have no more contact with him, from that evening onwards. He wouldn't speak to me, and I wouldn't speak to him. We ignored each other completely. He knew I'd packed my belongings into my trunk. He knew I was taking the ferry to Scotland the following afternoon, and he didn't even appear to care. It seemed that we'd finally burned our bridges. It really did upset me, and even when I think about it now, it still does. But that was just the kind of man my father was.

While sitting in bed that night, I planned out my final morning in County Down. I decided that my first port of call would be Mrs. Morgan, to explain my circumstances, and give notice of leaving her employment. After that was out of the way, I wanted to head up to Comber on the train. There was something I needed to do, which I'd never done before; visit the grave of my beloved Mr. Andrews. I had to pay my last respects, which I knew wouldn't be easy for me. Of course, I would then return to my parents' house to collect my trunk and bid goodbye to my mother, and that would be of utmost importance. But finally, before catching the ferry to Scotland, I would take one last walk around Belfast Harbour; my first sighting of Thomas Andrews had been there, in November of 1911. Indeed, my last morning in County Down had been mapped out with precision, and I'd hoped it would all go according to plan.

Switching off the bedside lamp and laying my head down on my pillow, I began to doze. It was then that I heard his voice, and felt the back of his hand caress my cheek.

"You're doing the right thing, Mimi," he whispered in my ear.

I opened my bleary eyes, but I couldn't see him. I could smell the aroma of his cologne, and there was a feeling of warmth next to my face.

"You really think so, Thomas?" I whispered back.

"Yes," came the reply. "but I'm sorry it's come to this. _I only want you to be safe_. "

I closed my eyes again. I wasn't scared; I felt comforted.

"Will you stay with me, Thomas? Just...till I fall...asleep..."

And I believe that his spirit did.


	39. A Most Unexpected Meeting

**Author's Note:** Anyone who's still reading this mammoth story deserves a huge round of applause, at the very least! Thank you, as always.

The real life Thomas Andrews had a sister named Eliza. But for the sake of this story, I've given my version of Mr. Andrews a fictional sister called Bronagh (pronounced_ Bro-na_. The "gh" is silent). County Fermanagh is pronounced County _Fir-mana_, again with a silent "gh".

* * *

_**Chapter 39: A Most Unexpected Meeting  
**_

Mrs. Morgan wasn't surprised when I advised her of my resignation from her employment. It turned out that she'd already heard rumours regarding an intimate relationship between me and Mr. Andrews, and when I told her about Mrs. Andrews hounding me, she understood why I felt I had to leave the country. I finally came clean to Mrs. Morgan about my pregnancy, and that was of no surprise to her either; she'd suspected weeks before that I'd been pregnant, but had felt it wasn't her business to mention it. God bless Mrs. Morgan; the woman was adamant that she was on my side over these matters, which humbled me. I told her I'd be forever grateful to her and to Mr. Morgan, for giving me employment soon after the _Titanic_ disaster, and for understanding my predicament. But, despite her acceptance of my resignation, she couldn't resist trying to change my mind before I left.

"It's a crying shame it's come to this," she said firmly, as she saw me to the door. "Are ye sure you won't reconsider? You're a lovely girl and a hard worker. Don't let these wicked tongues drive you away, lass. I know you better than those people. This is the last thing ye need, what with the baby and all,"

I couldn't say much in response to that. I nodded my head sadly and forced half a smile.

"Thank you for everything, Mrs. Morgan. And pass on my thanks to Mr. Morgan, too. You've both been very good to me. I'll send you a telegram from Scotland when I'm more settled there."

"Be sure ye do, Mimi. I'll want to know all about this lovely little 'un you're having! And of course, I'll send a reference letter to your next employer. You can be sure o'that. Have a safe journey to Scotland, Mimi. And take care."

Oh, I felt such a pang of guilt at leaving the Morgans in the lurch like that. But my hand had been forced, by circumstances outwith my control. At least I had parted on good terms with Mrs. Morgan, which was what I'd wanted. Those people were rare diamonds, especially Mrs. Morgan. Rare diamonds, in a county full of stone-hearted gossipmongers.

**...**

My next stop was Comber Cemetery in the borough of Ards, where the Andrews family had laid my dearest Thomas to rest. Keeping my eye on the time, I took the train to Comber, feeling nervous beyond belief. I didn't bring any flowers with me, though I'd wanted to so badly. Laying flowers on the grave would only have antagonised Mrs. Andrews, and the finger of suspicion would've pointed directly at me. It wasn't a risk I could take, especially now that I was leaving Ireland.

The cemetery was quiet, which was no surprise; it wasn't even midday. Of course, I didn't know exactly where the family had buried Mr. Andrews. I didn't even know if he was in a family plot, or if he was somewhere on his own. I wandered through the grounds, looking out for recently erected headstones, while keeping my head down. I didn't want to seem out of place or suspicious, even though there was barely anyone else there. Well, talk about being paranoid! And I had good reason to be. But I found the headstone rather quickly, considering I wasn't familiar with the cemetery and I hadn't a clue where to start looking. Several poor souls had been buried in those grounds over April and May, so finding Mr. Andrews' grave was pot luck, I suppose you could say.

I came to a stop at the foot of the grave, feeling a little overwhelmed. I knew I had to stay strong, but this was my first time seeing the burial place of the man I'd loved.

_So, this is where you are, darling. This is where you're resting...  
_

The headstone itself was nothing too fancy, and there were fresh flowers adorning the grass. It was clear that the family had been there again, quite recently. There were white lillies and roses, and it seemed that the grave was tended to regularly. I read the inscription on the headstone aloud to myself:

_"Here lies Thomas Andrews, Jr., _

_Born in Comber, Ulster, 7th February 1873_

_Died aboard the steam liner, R.M.S. Titanic, in the Atlantic Ocean, 15th April 1912_

_Our dearly loved son, brother, husband, father, nephew and colleague_

_A gentle man with the mind of a genius, and a hero till the very end_

_May the angels be watching over you, for all eternity..."_

Now, it was a pleasantly warm day in the month of June, but as I read the inscription to myself, I could feel goosebumps lining my arms and giving me the shivers. I was wearing a thin coat, too, so I certainly wasn't in the least bit cold. It was odd, but I put it down being emotional. I took a step forward, but I dared not stand on his grave. I'd always been told never to stand on graves, for it was disrespectful to the dead beneath the ground.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," I sighed. It must've seemed like an odd thing for me to say at the time; apologising for his death. Something I'd had no control over. My bottom lip started to quiver, but my voice stayed soft. "You shouldn't be under there! Why can't you still be here, with me? Why does it have to be like this? Why did you _leave_ me?"

I knew I had to pull myself together. The last thing I needed was to make a spectacle of myself in public, again. Of course, the cemetery was more or less empty of the living. But I didn't want to upset the dead, either. Inhaling a deep breath, I shook my head and kept my eyes on his name, etched into the headstone.

"If this child is a boy, I'll name him Thomas Andrews the third," I continued, this time, rather proudly.

How silly of me to say such a thing, looking back on it now. Calling a son Thomas Andrews III wouldn't have been very wise, if I was trying to stay reasonably anonymous. Mr. Andrews and I were, of course, not married to each other. Any child of mine should've been a Monaghan, or even something else. I'd been hated and hounded so much that I couldn't risk my own child being targeted as well! And I had no right to be calling a son Thomas Andrews; it was Mr. Andrews' father's name. I would've brought even more shame to everyone involved in this sorry little mess. But I was a romantic, and at the time, naming my son after his father seemed like a fitting tribute.

"Thomas Andrews the third?" a female voice from behind me said.

I froze to the spot. I thought I'd been alone, and that no-one else was in the cemetery. My goodness, no! I'd been seen. I'd damn well been seen! As I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel around me, I swallowed hard, still rooted to the spot. A dark haired, well groomed woman, who seemed to be in her early thirties, stood next to me. She wore a pale pink hat with a wide brim, and carried a white parasol with her. I didn't know who she was, and I couldn't recall ever seeing her before. She was a complete stranger to me, of that there was no doubt.

"So it's true, then," she said, looking firstly at the headstone and then at me.

"I'm-I'm not sure what you mean," I replied, nervously.

"My brother and the stewardess," she replied, matter-of-factly.

I blinked and turned my head slowly to look at the woman. My God, not another one. Another member of the Andrews family, spying on me, following me, coming to give me a dressing down. I didn't need this! As ridiculous as it sounds now, I didn't even know at the time that Mr. Andrews had a sister. I'd only known he'd had 'siblings' of some description.

"Please," I begged the woman, clenching my hands by my sides. "I don't want any trouble,"

Her eyes were a glassy blue colour; very different to the dark brown of her brother's. Facially, they didn't resemble each other at all.

"And you won't get trouble from me, Miss Monaghan," she said calmly. "I'm Bronagh. Bronagh Kelly. Tom's wee sister."

What? His sister was being nice? To _me_? I was public enemy number one! I couldn't understand it. She saw the look on my face, and sighed heavily.

"Look, for what it's worth, I don't like what's been going on. And I don't agree with what Helen and that other fool are doing."

I frowned and and looked over to the grass, shyly.

"But...everyone hates me. Thomas is dead, and they blame me."

Bronagh gave a soft, ironic-sounding chuckle.

"Tom would never have got himself to a lifeboat before everyone else! He was going down with that ship anyway, Miss Monaghan. Nothing would've changed his mind. He knew it was his duty. That was just Tom."

I couldn't quite believe my ears. This lady, my darling Thomas's sister, was not pointing the finger of blame at me. What a revelation! But there were some things I was sure that his family didn't know, and couldn't know. Those things were private between Mr. Andrews and me.

"You do know that he died in...my arms?" I whispered.

Bronagh nodded her head.

"Jonathan Donahue made sure _everyone_ knew of that. But if Tom hadn't died in your arms, Miss Monaghan...he would've died alone as the ship went into the sea. He wouldn't have survived that. Isn't it better to die in the arms of a caring woman, than to drown, all alone?"

Of course, she was right. But I couldn't take in the fact that a member of the Andrews family appeared to be on my side. It was, quite simply, bizarre to me.

"I was the last person to see him alive..." I began quietly, my eyes drifting back to the headstone. "He was devastated that the ship was sinking. He felt so much guilt. And what you said is true - he didn't want to get on a lifeboat. He told me himself. He arranged a place for me on a boat, without him. And he gave me a letter, to send to his daughter. He knew he wasn't going to make it out of there alive. I followed him to the smoking room, Ms. Kelly. That's where he was, just before the ship broke in two. I tried to convince him to come with me...but he still wouldn't go. Then he...he collapsed. I think the stress and the shock of the sinking was too much for him, and he had a heart attack. It wasn't my fault, Ms. Kelly,"

Bronagh's expression softened, and she brought her parasol down from above her head.

"I believe you, Miss Monaghan. And please, call me Bronagh."

Laying her parasol to one side, she knelt down on the grass and moved some of the flowers around the grave, tidying them up as she went along.

"My family haven't seen eye to eye with Helen for some time now," she explained, placing a bouquet closer to the headstone. "None of us liked it when she left Tom for Jonathan. That bastard was a friend of the family, and he stabbed us all in the back. But the person he hurt most was Tom. And Helen? Don't get me started on her. She wasn't always a spiteful witch! She used to be a loving wife to our Tom. But she got fed up of his work being a priority, so she left him. Tom was devastated, Miss Monaghan. Then she started to get sulky, when one of Tom's colleagues said something about a White Star stewardess. As far as we were concerned, Tom was moving on after Helen left him."

It really was quite strange; I'd known nothing of this before. Mr. Andrews himself had never said anything to me. Perhaps he would've done, if we'd had more time to be together. If he hadn't been cruelly taken away from me, too soon. It seemed there were still things to learn about the man I'd loved. I'd been under the strongest impression that he'd found it difficult to move on from his tattered marriage to Mrs. Andrews. All the times, onboard the _Titanic_, when he'd mentioned her. The far-away look in his eyes. His obvious guilt at sleeping with me. His refusal to make any commitment to me, until the hour before_ Titanic_ had struck that iceberg. Why did I get this impression from him, and yet, his own wife and sister said he'd been taken with _me_? It didn't make any sense.

"I'm sure he still loved Helen," I sighed. "He wouldn't tell me he loved me, Bronagh. Not until the very end, when he was dying in my arms. That was when he said it. I just...I just wonder, that's all,"

Bronagh stood to her feet and brushed her skirt down, making sure there was no dirt on the pristine fabric.

"Tom was not one for facing up to his feelings," she said. "He didn't like to admit his marriage was a mess, Miss Monaghan. I think he was kidding himself. But Helen has become quite demented since his death. She's like a woman possessed. You may not be safe around here, love. Jonathan Donahue is a dangerous man. He_ knows_ people..."

I looked to my feet, nervously, and lowered my voice.

"And that's why I'm leaving."

Bronagh's eyes widened considerably.

"Leaving?" she repeated.

Nodding my head, I looked over my shoulders for any possible eavesdroppers. There weren't any.

"This afternoon. I'm taking the ferry to Scotland. I have to get away from here, Bronagh. I can't deal with what's happening right now, and I have my baby to think of."

"Oh, yes. Thomas Andrews the third, hmm?" she inquired, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Well, of course I don't know if it's a boy or a girl!" I quickly interjected. "But if it's a boy, I'll be naming him after his daddy. Thomas told me he wanted a son,"

Bronagh rummaged around in her coat pocket, and took out a little moleskin journal and a fountain pen. My goodness! It was quite the sight. She may have looked nothing like her big brother, but they did have something in common; carrying around a notebook and pen. I chuckled to myself.

"Thomas always took a black book and pen wherever he went..."

Bronagh opened her journal at the nearest blank page, removed the lid from her pen, and began to scribble something down.

"He did," she agreed. "He never went anywhere without his notebook. And neither do I!"

She finished writing, then ripped the page out of the journal and handed it to me.

"This is my address. Write to me, Miss Monaghan. We should stay in touch, especially when the baby is born."

The ink on the paper was wet, but I looked at the note out of curiosity. It seemed that Bronagh didn't reside in County Down with the other members of the Andrews family; she lived over on the other side of Northern Ireland, in County Fermanagh. Perhaps her distance from the rest of her family was telling, or perhaps it was not. I didn't wish to speculate. I nodded a humble 'thank you', regardless of my thoughts.

"I will, Bronagh. I appreciate your kindness. I really believed everybody hated me."

She straightened up her posture, adjusted the brim of her hat, and picked up her parasol again.

"I wish we'd met sooner, Miss Monaghan. Not everybody hates you. Well, goodness! I'd better not keep you. Good luck to you, on your journey to Scotland. And please...write to me. I'm sure we have a few stories about Tom to share."

I smiled, and gave her a wave as she strolled away across the gravel again.

"I'd be happy to. And you must call me Mimi."

This would be the start of a pleasant friendship between Bronagh Kelly and me. I hadn't foreseen anything like this, so coming across Mr. Andrews' sister at his graveside had been nothing but pure luck. And such a meeting had given me hope; hope that not everybody perceived me in the same way after all. I wouldn't see Bronagh very often, but we would send telegram correspondences to each other quite regularly. She was different. She didn't judge me for my romantic relationship with her brother, and she didn't like the spiteful behaviour of Helen Andrews. I'd found a kindred spirit in Bronagh; an ally.

And there would be one important period in my life where Bronagh would be there for me, when I really needed someone the most. Perhaps I'd have been dead many years ago, if it hadn't been for her. You see, Bronagh Kelly helped me, when my child came into the world a few months later. She would be the one to find a doctor to rush me to hospital. But she'd also be the one to help me bury my child; the beautiful, delicate little daughter resulting from my union with Mr. Andrews.


	40. Goodbye, Ireland: Mimi's Hope

_**Author's Notes: **_Mimi mentions a woman called** Mary Sloan** when she reminisces in this chapter. Mary Sloan was a real life _Titanic_ stewardess, from Belfast. No-one seems to know for sure what actually happened to her; she just 'disappeared' after surviving the sinking. My portrayal of Mary Sloan here is entirely fictional, but there are those who believe the real Mary had a 'thing' for Andrews (hinted at in the 70's film "_S.O.S. Titanic_"). Some accounts say he persuaded her to get into a lifeboat, though it's possible she was pushed into one during the panic._**  
**_

**Queen's Island, **where** Belfast Harbour **is located, is now known as **Titanic Quarter**. The famous **Titanic Belfast** exhibition centre was recently built there.

Also, until recently, there was an actual ferry port from Belfast to Stranraer (pronounced _Stran-rar_) in Scotland.

Thanks to all R&R - I appreciate everyone who's sticking with this!

* * *

_**Chapter 40: Goodbye, Ireland: Mimi's Hope For A New Life**_

After my surprise meeting with Mr. Andrews' sister at his graveside, I returned home to bid a tearful farewell to my mother. It was an emotional one, as expected, but my mind was made up. There was no going back on my plans now, and well...it wasn't as though I was moving to the other side of the world, was it? Scotland was far enough away to be free from Mrs. Andrews and Jonathan Donahue, yet still close enough if my family needed me. It certainly felt like the right thing to do, under the circumstances.

Mother very graciously gifted me her savings, as she'd promised to do. She handed me four pounds, in a brown envelope, and advised me to keep it safe in my trunk. Four pounds was such a lot of money in 1912; my mother was making quite the sacrifice, financially, for me. She'd told me that father had no knowledge of this money's existence. It was clear that my mother was quite used to keeping secrets from him, and I understood why. But I was grateful for what she was doing for me, and I did not forget to tell her so.

Mother then decided, spur of the moment, that she was going to come with me to see me off. Bless my ma, for that was the kind of person she was when my father wasn't around. She dressed in her coat and hat, and together we took the tram into Belfast. Thankfully, our stop at Queen's Island wasn't too far from the harbour, where the ferry was docked. I couldn't have lugged that trunk around with me for much longer!

With mother by my side, I went to the ticket office to buy myself a one-way fare to Stranraer, in Scotland. I used my own money from my last wage to pay for it, but I didn't have much left to purchase anything else. I was so thankful for my mother's brown envelope, tucked away in my trunk.

The ferry wasn't due to board for another twenty minutes, which gave me the perfect opportunity to reminisce about old times. Belfast Harbour had been where I'd first encountered Thomas Andrews, seven months before. It was such a strange thought, really; less than a year after catching my eye, the gentleman would be deceased, and I would be expecting his child. In November of 1911, I had never even entertained such notions. Goodness; how things had changed, in such a short space of time. As mother and I sat on a bench by the quayside, I became misty-eyed, pensively staring out over the water where _Titanic_ had first launched. The Harland and Wolff shipyard and its drawing offices were close to the harbour, and my mind began to wander all over the place. _Titanic_...Harland and Wolff...Thomas Andrews...the Belfast to Liverpool ferry, where we'd first spoken to one another...shattered dreams, shattered lives, shattered everything.

"What ye thinkin' about, darlin'?" my ma enquired softly, noting my thoughtful expression.

I didn't take my eyes off the water. _Titanic_ had been there, not so long ago.

"Oh, just this and that," I replied, breathing in that familiar, pungent aroma of sea air.

A flock of gulls appeared and hovered over the water, giving a shrill call to one another. I'd always hated those damned things, for they were such a nuisance. But seagulls were part of harbour life, I actually missed working on the boats. I missed being a stewardess at sea. And of course, I missed my dear Mr. Andrews. I cast my mind back to that morning in November of 1911; the morning that altered my life, though I hadn't quite known it at the time.

_Hurrying down the footpath along Belfast Harbour with my colleague, Mary, I'd thought I was going to be late for my first day's employment as a White Star stewardess. That would never do! It was a brisk, chilly day, but the sun was shining and the sky was blue. I rubbed my gloved hands together for warmth, and tried to keep up with Mary. We could see two tall gentleman walking in the opposite direction to us, both wearing long overcoats and hats. Mary slowed down a little._

_"Smile now, Mimi," she told me, as I caught up with her. "See those gentlemen approaching? The younger one is Thomas Andrews Junior, the shipbuilder. The White Star liners were designed by him and his men. Best behaviour as we walk past!"_

_Well, I'd known who Thomas Andrews was, but only by name. I'd never seen him, nor had I met him, before then. I rolled my eyes at Mary's insistence that we be on our 'best behaviour'. We weren't exactly purveyors of terrible mischief, or such like! We were simply two ladies in a rush to get to work._

_Mr. Andrews and his associate were now within close proximity to us on the footpath. They were chatting between themselves, and Mr. Andrews gave a hearty laugh over something or other. Goodness gracious! I hadn't expected my heart to skip a beat when I saw this tall, dapper gentleman wearing a long winter coat, a trilby hat, and leather gloves. I noticed the colour of his eyes right away; deep, chocolate brown, my preferred eye colour on a man. He also had a strong jawline, which was another personal preference of mine. The Harland and Wolff shipbuilder was quite the handsome chap! Tucked under his left arm was a black, leather-bound book of some sort. A journal or notebook, I'd thought to myself._

_"Good morning, ladies," his associate chirped, tipping his hat politely upon seeing us. Mr. Andrews gave a smile and also tipped his hat, but seemed a little on the shy side to say anything._

_"Good morning," Mary and I said in unison, and Mary couldn't hide her giggles. She'd been telling ME to be on my best behaviour!_

_But oh, my Lord. I had a thousand little butterflies in my stomach. So this man was the famous Thomas Andrews, designer of these new White Star liners! I'd heard quite a lot about him whilst working on the ferries from Belfast to Liverpool. Crew members had always spoken highly of him. I was sure I'd be seeing a lot more of him, now that I was working as a stewardess for White Star. How exciting indeed. But I didn't want to develop a crush on the man. Oh gosh, no. I knew he was married with a young child._

_Mr. Andrews quickly looked to the ground as he and his associate strolled by us, and I couldn't help glancing over my shoulder at him. Discreetly, of course._

_"Stop looking!" Mary hissed at me, giving me a nudge._

_I hadn't expected him to do so, but I was taken by surprise when Mr. Andrews turned his head to look over his shoulder, just as I had done. I knew I wasn't imagining it; his eyes were on me. They were not on Mary, or anyone else. We were making eye contact! He smiled at me, then brought his attention back to his associate again. The two men continued walking in the opposite direction, before turning a corner and disappearing from sight._

_"Mimi!" Mary scolded me, shaking her head. "Mr. Andrews is a married man."_

_"I know," I said innocently. "That doesn't mean I can't admire him from afar, does it? He seems nice."_

_"Well, you'll have to wait your turn," she sniffed back, becoming quite defensive all of a sudden. "The word is that his little wifey ran off with someone else. And you're not the only one who finds him attractive! I saw him first, remember..."_

Mary Sloan's famous last words, as far as Mr. Andrews was concerned. Mary had also been employed as a stewardess on _Titanic_, though our paths rarely crossed during the short time we were on the ship. As far as I know, Mr. Andrews had never shown anything more than a platonic and professional interest in Mary. Me, on the other hand - well, we all know about that! I did used to wonder if Mary was ever envious of my relationship with Mr. Andrews, as we served on _Titanic_. Perhaps she'd deliberately stayed away from me, out of jealousy? I'll never know the answer. And I'll never know what happened to Mary, after _Titanic_ sank. To this day, I don't think anyone does. She certainly survived the sinking by getting onto a lifeboat, like I had done. I'd heard rumours that my dear Mr. Andrews convinced her to save herself, even though she'd wanted to stay behind with her fellow crew members. She'd been seen on lifeboat sixteen and had made it to New York, but what happened to her after returning to England, nobody seemed to know. Mary Sloan's whereabouts were just another of _Titanic_'s mysteries.

"Mimi!" my mother said firmly, shaking me by the arm. "The ferry is about to board,"

Well, I hadn't been paying any attention to the steward who'd been calling for passengers to line up. I really must've been miles away with my thoughts. Blinking, I snapped myself out of my trance.

"Sorry, ma. I was thinking about old times," I sighed, getting up from the bench. She mirrored me, also standing to her feet.

"Ye better go and get in that queue, lass," she said. Her face was kindly, but I could see the sadness in her eyes. Oh, my poor ma. I was breaking her heart by leaving Ireland, but I had to go. She knew why I was doing this, and she understood.

"You've got your boarding pass, now?" she fussed, though she could clearly see the boarding pass in my hand.

"Yes, ma," I said, waving the piece of paper in front of her face.

"Good girl. Ye'd better get yerself in that queue before it's too late. Go on, Mimi. You know how much I hate goodbyes. I'll only end up bursting into tears, and I don't want you seeing me like that. Go on, then. Get to the queue now."

I didn't want to be in floods of tears myself, so I tried to hold it all in, putting on a brave face just for her. She then pulled me into a warm, mother-daughter embrace.

"You_ must _send us a telegram with your new address in it," she told me. "I'd like to visit you when my gorgeous little grandchild comes along! And who knows - maybe I can convince yer father to come along too, hm?"

"After what he said, I doubt he'll be interested. Listen, ma...you take care of yourself. I'll be thinking about you when I'm over there. I promise I'll write as often as I can."

Mother broke away from our embrace and smiled.

"I know ye will, love. I know."

I picked up my trunk, and looked at my mother one last time.

"Love you, ma."

She nodded her head, and watched me make my way to the queue for boarding. Yes, I was trying not to start blubbering, but it was hard. My eyes were watering, and my heart was heavy. I glanced over my shoulder to wave to mother, but she'd already started to walk away. I didn't take it too personally. I knew how she was feeling, and she clearly hadn't wanted to prolong the upset. Turning back to face the queue again, I held my head high. I was doing the right thing.

The steward stamped my boarding pass and tied an identification tag to my trunk, and I was now free to board the ferry. This was it; the start of another chapter in my life. Before the boat even left the harbour, I took a stroll onto the outer deck and rested my elbows on the railings, looking out across Belfast Lough. I was leaving behind my family...the few friends I had...my beloved homeland of Ireland...and Thomas. I moved my hand under my coat and rested my palm on my stomach, which I'd thought was already starting to expand. I must've been about nine weeks pregnant by now. Still early on, of course, but I was sure I was gaining some weight around my middle.

"I'm doing this for us, little one." I whispered, as the sea breeze played with loose strands of my hair. I brushed the curls behind my ears, and felt that familiar vibration of engines from beneath my feet. There was a low rumble and, slowly at first, we began to move. Relatives and well-wishers had lined the harbour to wave their loved ones off, but my mother was already long gone.

Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back as the breeze picked up around me. It was then that I remembered standing on the outer promenade deck of _Titanic_, late at night, with Mr. Andrews. Watching the stars together from behind the railings, the night before the sinking. Being at one with the sea was where I belonged. And being at sea reminded me of _him_. It was strange to think that, despite the awful tragedy that had happened, I could never be truly at peace anywhere else. And now I was heading to Scotland, away from my homeland, and away from everything that I'd really known. I was filled with hope, yearning the promise of a new and trouble-free life. Goodbye, Ireland.


	41. Smile

**Author's Notes**: This chapter introduces another male character - borrowing heavily from Heath Ledger's physical appearance, particularly his character Gabriel Martin's looks in '**The Patriot**'. Only difference being that my character wears working man's Edwardian-style clothing.

The tidbit about the **Clyde shipyards** in Glasgow, Scotland, is factual. Belfast wasn't the only Celtic city involved in shipbuilding at that time, so it makes sense for Mimi to move there than anywhere else, given her history.

Thank you as always to those who've stuck by this story. It's proved to be more popular than I'd ever imagined, so cheers to you all! I really appreciate it.

* * *

_**Chapter 41: Smile**_

_"That's the time you must keep on trying  
Smile, what's the use of crying  
You'll find that life is still worthwhile  
If you just smile..."_

_Smile - Charlie Chaplin**  
**_

_**...**  
_

Scotland isn't all that different from Northern Ireland, so I knew it would be a home from home. And it was, in a way. Rolling hills and mountains. Fresh, clean air. And a booming shipbuilding industry, at the Clyde shipyards, in and around Glasgow. Belfast may have been the birthplace of the most famous liner of all time, but Scotland had its own famed shipping history.

It was because of this, that my travels took me to Glasgow; also considered the capital city. Mother's savings paid for my temporary accomodation, and I found a nice little inn, run by a hard working older couple named Mr. and Mrs. Tate. They reminded me of the Morgans; decent, with no airs and graces.

And it was refreshing to be anonymous in this new city. I was no longer the subject of idle gossip and tittle tattle. I was free. Of course, the _Titanic_ disaster had been big news all over the world, so everybody knew about it. The British Inquiry was still underway. Plenty of Scots had been affected by _Titanic_, as well as the Irish, English, Europeans and Americans. Indeed, First Officer William Murdoch was being mourned by the Scots at that time. Locals would ask about my accent, and I'd tell them I was an Irish lass who'd lived near Belfast. Naturally, the conversation would turn to _Titanic_, and I'd confess to being a survivor of the disaster. This would draw a lot of 'ooh's and 'aah's, and questions that I was happy to answer, but there was one thing I would never disclose to anyone: my relationship with Thomas Andrews. I couldn't risk it, not even hundreds of miles away from home. As far as the locals were concerned, I was an Ulster-born girl who'd landed a job on _Titanic_ and had been fortunate enough to survive the sinking. They didn't need to know about Mr. Andrews, or that I was expecting his child, or the reason for me running away to Scotland. These people didn't even know that I _had_ run away, let alone anything about my personal difficulties. Some things were better left unsaid.

It was easy enough for me to find work, considering my background as a maid, stewardess and housekeeper. Mr. and Mrs. Tate offered me a position as a domestic servant, and I was expected to make the beds in the rooms, deal with laundry, peel potatoes in the kitchen and so on. Same old graft, just a different day. The Tates knew of my 'delicate condition', of course. They didn't look down on me, being pregnant and unmarried. I'd told them the father had been killed on _Titanic_, which was close to the truth anyway.

And so, my new life in Scotland began. Trouble-free, as I'd wanted. But I missed Ireland. I missed my mother, and the Morgans, and Belfast, and everything else. Mr. Andrews was still in my thoughts, inhabiting my mind every day. I felt far away from his memory and his legacy, and his pocket watch served as another reminder that he wasn't with me any more. The watch was safely stored away in a drawer, in the nightstand by my bed. On peaceful evenings, I could still hear quiet ticking from inside the drawer. It was rather soothing...comforting.

I wrote my first telegram to my mother in late July, when I'd been in Scotland for six weeks. I'd wanted to be settled in properly, before writing to anyone in particular. It was just the sensible thing to do. I was now close to being four months pregnant, and feeling so much better. The sickness I'd experienced during the early weeks had gone, and Mrs. Tate remarked that I had a 'nice glow' to my face. Things were going very well for me, I must say! For the first time in months, I felt that it was acceptable for Mimi Monaghan to _smile _again.

And then something happened that shook me up a little bit; reminding me of why I'd moved over to Scotland in the first place. It's rather silly to think of it now, but my paranoia actually introduced me to a rather charming young man.

On a balmly summer's day, I'd been sent by Mrs. Tate to run a few shopping errands. A hot day meant lemonade, of course. Mrs. Tate preferred to make her own concoction for her guests, and I'd been sent out to buy three dozen lemons and a dozen oranges. I clutched the handle of my heavy shopping basket between two hands, as I made my way back from the fruit stall; humming quietly to myself. I was parched, and couldn't wait to help Mrs. Tate turn all those lemons and oranges into fruit juice. But my heart began to thud harder in my chest, as I noticed a bunch of women on the path ahead, huddled together with their backs to me. They were giggling and whispering among themselves, and one in particular began to cackle loudly. Slowing right down, I could feel my throat tighten. Her voice was familiar, and her loud hilarity was very reminiscent of Mrs. Andrews' mocking laughter.

_It can't be her...oh, my God...surely, it can't be her..._

The blood began to rush through my head, pounding in my ears. I didn't want this. Not here. Had I been followed, all the way to Scotland? The cackling woman sounded just like her.

_Please, no. Not her. I should just...I should take the other path. I can't risk it._

My fingers began to tremble and the basket dropped from my hands, scattering citrus fruits all over the path around me. Well, how embarrassing! Lemons and oranges bounced toward the feet of the cackling woman, who then turned on her heel and glanced over at me. In fact, everyone was looking at me, and a few idiots thought my misfortune was something to laugh at. But I felt like such a fool; of course, the woman wasn't Mrs. Andrews. It wasn't her at all! And you must know how glad I was of that. Good gracious, I'd been in such a panic over nothing. How paranoid was I? Even the sound of a woman's shrieking laughter was enough to put the fear of God into me. Now my face was glowing with shame, as I dropped to my knees to grab all the lemons and oranges I could find on the ground. My poor hands were still rather shaky.

_Well, Mimi, you've made a spectacle of yourself in public again. Congratulations. _

"Would you like some help there, lass?"

I slowly looked up, over my shoulder behind me. A blonde haired young man wearing a flat cap, waistcoat and slate-coloured trousers, stood there. The flat cap just about held his curly locks in place, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. A burned down cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

Blushing from the stupidity of dropping my basket, I nodded.

"Yes, I'd appreciate that."

The man took one last puff of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground, and bent over to pick up some stray lemons nearby. I noticed how large his hands were, and they rather reminded me of Mr. Andrews' hands; strong, and clearly used to a hard day's graft. He placed the fruit in the basket, and took a look around for any more.

"I think we've rescued all of them," he said after a moment, turning back to me. "Are you running a lemonade stall or something?"

He offered me his hand to steady myself, as I stood to my feet. Brushing specks of dirt from my dress, I picked up my basket again, making sure my grip was more secure this time. No repeat performances were necessary, thank you! But, my Lord, this youthful gent was so much taller than me. I could see him now, towering over me. He was of a similar height to Mr. Andrews, with a slimmer, more wiry build. Probably ten years younger too, at the very least. Closer to my age than Mr. Andrews had been, for certain. Yes, he was a handsome fellow. If my heart hadn't belonged to my deceased shipbuilder, then perhaps I could quite fancy him. But my heart _did _belong Mr. Andrews, so that was really the end of it.

"Not exactly," I replied to his question. "but these _are_ for making lemonade. You're almost right,"

He squinted his eyes a little. His eye colour was certainly rather striking; a rich, chocolatey brown. There was a michievous look about this man.

"You're definitely not from around here, are you, lass? That's an Irish accent I'm hearing. Belfast or thereabouts. Am I right?"

Well, well! Whoever he was, he had a good ear on him.

"Just outside of Belfast," I confirmed to him, chuckling softly.

"That's what I thought," he said, pulling a cigarette tin from his trouser pocket and flipping it open. "I was over there myself for a while, actually,"

How was that for an interesting coincidence? I couldn't help but smile.

"That's odd! Isn't it a small world?"

The man popped an unlit cigarette behind his ear and closed the tin over again.

"Certainly is, lass. I'm a draughtsman, y'see. I've been working at the Clyde shipyards lately, but I served an apprenticeship in Belfast a couple of years ago. Harland and Wolff drawing offices, actually. But I didn't help sink the _Titanic_! Thankfully I wasn't involved with that one. I did a bit of work for the _Olympic_."

My eyes couldn't have been any wider. This helpful stranger had been an apprentice..._at Harland and Wolff? _And he'd worked on the _Olympic_, _Titanic'_s sister ship; also designed by Mr. Andrews. How very strange. Too strange for my liking.

"You're having me on!" I scoffed, giving a nervous shake of my head.

The man's eyebrows knitted together into a puzzled frown.

"Why would I be doing that, miss?"

Yes, good question: why _would_ he be doing that? He didn't know who I was, or my personal connections to Thomas Andrews. I was just some silly domestic servant who'd dropped her shopping in the street. How presumptuous of me to think I was of importance to anyone else.

I swallowed a lump in my throat, and glanced down to the gravel by my feet.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...look, I have to go."

And, as fast as I could go with a heavy basket under my arm, I made a dash across the road. I couldn't have stayed any longer in the draughtsman's presence. The situation was too unnerving for me. If he was to be believed, he'd worked for Harland and Wolff - meaning he was likely to have met with Mr. Andrews. What if I blew my cover?

"Wait, lass!" he called out after me. "You've forgotten your purse!"

I looked into my basket, and of course, he was right. My purse, containing Mrs. Tate's petty cash, was missing. I stopped and turned around, as the draughtsman came running towards me with the purse in his hand. He gave it to me, as any other honest gentleman would've done.

"I apologise if I've offended you, miss," he said, seeming confused. "But I don't know what I did,"

I slipped the purse into the basket again.

"No, I'm the one who should be apologising," I admitted sheepishly. "I just panicked. I was a stewardess for White Star Line, and I knew people from Harland and Wolff. I was...well, on the _Titanic_. When...when she went down,"

The draughtsman's face dropped, and he smacked his palm against his forehead.

"Well, that explains everything! I'm so sorry, miss. I didn't mean to upset you. I should be more mindful of what I say. Bloody hell, love. Talk about putting my foot in it."

"It's alright. Don't worry yerself," I told him. And I meant what I said. "I still it find hard to accept what happened, that's all. I lost some very dear friends that night. Some _very_ dear friends..."

The man's eyes looked into mine. Indeed, his eyes were quite lovely.

"Well, I can't imagine how any of that felt, miss. It must've been terrifying."

I continued to hold his gaze for a moment or two.

"It was."

About half a minute of silence passed between us, before the man blinked and said, "Anyway, I'm sorry to have kept you. You have a nice day, now. Enjoy the sunshine while it lasts, eh?"

A hint of a smile crept across my face, but I tried to be a coy in hiding it. How ridiculous of me, smiling like that at some fellow I'd never met before. What would he think of me? An straight face was seen as more acceptable, and much less flirtatious. I didn't want to come across badly.

"Thank you for your help, sir."

He was already walking away by now - backwards, without even looking where he was going, and narrowly missing a woman on a bicycle. Mr. Draughtsman was a cocky so-and-so, that was for sure.

"The name's Fraser, lass!" he called out, then gestured a goodbye to me before turning around and sprinting off.

Well, this had been a most bizarre encounter. Meeting Fraser, a former apprentice Harland and Wolff draughtsman, under the oddest of circumstances. Strange, indeed. But he'd been polite. Helpful. Happy! He'd smiled at me the whole time, and his outlook on life seemed to be rather cheery. Oh, and not to mention, he was easy on the eye. I did wonder if I'd run into him again at some point. Perhaps I wouldn't, but bumping into this fellow reassured me that there were still _some_ gentlemen left in the world.

As I made my way back to The Tate Inn, a familiar male voice echoed through my head. I was either paranoid and hearing things, or he really was haunting me from beyond the grave. Whichever one it was, I couldn't escape his voice; his words. It was as though he was there, next to me, whispering in my ear. His tone was soft and heartfelt.

_Please, dear Mimi. It's too soon. Don't betray me. Please._

Gritting my teeth, I ignored the voice and continued walking. But there he was, again.

_Not yet. It's too soon, Mimi. _

Persistent, but only when it suited him!_  
_

_"I wouldn't do that to you, Thomas," _I murmured, hoping that no-one else would heed me._ "Stop worrying."__  
_

I must've looked such a fool, talking to myself like that. Perhaps I was going mad. Hearing Mr. Andrews in my head, dreaming about his spirit communicating with me in my sleep. How absurd! I was probably certifiable, in many people's minds._ That stupid girl hears voices. And she sees ghosts! Lock her up and throw away the key._ No wonder I'd kept it all to myself. The last thing I needed was to be carted away to an asylum in a straitjacket. But I felt that Mr. Andrews was still with me, and I took comfort from it. I'd convinced myself he was simply looking out for me; being my guardian angel, as he'd promised. Who could begrudge me that?


	42. Sympathy and Understanding

_As always, I'd like to express my gratitude to those who have stuck by the many, many chapters of this mammoth tale: to all my regulars, the new readers and the guest readers. Thanks guys, I appreciate it! Believe it or not, Mimi's story is far from over yet.**  
**_

* * *

_**Chapter 42: Sympathy and Understanding**  
_

_August, 1912  
_

Well, the answer to my question would become clear just a few weeks after my first meeting with Fraser, the former Harland and Wolff apprentice. I did indeed see him again; several times, actually! It was odd, but I did wonder... was he interested in me, romantically? I must've been more naive than I realised, because it was as obvious as the day is long. This fellow became a regular at the pub next to the Tate Inn, and I would see him at least twice a week as I ran my daily errands. And I felt such awful pangs of guilt, as my head was being turned by a man who was not Mr. Andrews. Oh, how shameful. My dear Mr. Andrews was barely cold in his grave! I was four months pregnant with a dead man's child, and there I was, behaving flirtatiously with this other lad. Fraser _was_ handsome, and tall, and strong, always smiling, chivalrous. Those chocolate coloured eyes never failed to get my pulse racing. He didn't even have to say a word; all he'd have to do was give me a look, and I was a giggling, blushing mess. Even Mrs. Tate noticed the chemistry.

"That young man with the curly hair," she said to me, one warm evening. "He wants to court you, y'know. He's been asking about you! Just be careful, lass... there's another man's child growing in your belly. It's not something you can keep hiding. Your waist is getting bigger now, and soon it'll be very obvious."

Well, I insisted that she had the wrong end of the stick. Whatever gave her the idea that I was remotely interested in Fraser? I mean, really! But of course, I wasn't being entirely truthful. And the reason was, that I was ashamed. My head should never have been turned so soon, after my relationship with Mr. Andrews had been cut short by his death. And the baby, _his_ baby, was my priority. Fraser didn't know much about me, and he certainly didn't know I was pregnant by his former, now-deceased managing director! He was still unaware of my personal connections to Thomas Andrews. I'd told no-one in my new hometown - not a single soul. It had been my business, and my business only.

But once I finished my daily shifts at the inn and turned in for the evening, I felt such overwhelming loneliness washing over me. Every night was the same. If Mr. Andrews had survived, he'd have been with me that summer; or at least, I presumed so at the time. Now, my twenty eighth birthday was looming on the horizon, and through no fault of my own, I was 'on the shelf' once again. If anything, the death of Mr. Andrews confirmed to me that I longed to be loved, and to be held, and to be comforted, protected. I longed to be someone's soul mate - _his _soul mate. And those unjust, unkind circumstances onboard the _Titanic_ had robbed me of my one chance to truly be loved by that man. I held him so high on an untouchable pedestal, that the guilt over my flirting with Fraser was consuming me. And it all came to a head one sunny evening, as Fraser caught sight of me, broom in hand, sweeping the front doorstep of the inn. He wasn't wearing his usual flat cap this time, so those golden curls of his hung down over his eyes. Strolling over from the pub next door, a half-full pint glass in one hand, he smoothed a few ringlets from his untamed mop behind his ears and cleared his throat.

"Nice evening, isn't it?"

I smiled and looked up from my sweeping duties.

"It is, aye."

He raised his eyebrows and slipped his free hand into his trouser pocket.

"Aye. A nice evening."

Nodding my head, I continued sweeping the doorstep. But I could sense that he wanted to say something else as he hovered around in front of me, shifting from foot to foot.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked him, lifting my broom and shaking the dust from the bristles.

He moved his hand from his pocket to his forehead, pretended to scratch his brow, then frowned. I didn't know what was making him so apprehensive.

"Maybe you can," he began. "Look, this may seem forward, but I was wondering if..."

And he paused for a moment, before backtracking on whatever he'd been trying to say.

"No. No, never mind. It doesn't matter."

I gave a shrug and carried on sweeping.

"Oh. Well, it can't have been important."

Another quiet moment passed, and Fraser was still hovering around nervously. He downed several gulps of ale from his pint glass, and finally said, "Alright, I'm just going to come out with it. Mimi, I like you."

Sweeping my broom around his feet, I chuckled lightly.

"Well, thank you! I like you too."

Fraser lowered his voice and made sure we had eye contact, as he towered over me within close proximity.

"No, I mean... I _like_ you."

I stopped what I was doing and clutched the broom handle, aware of my throat beginning to tighten. Part of me wished he hadn't said what he did. The other part of me was glad that he had. I was confused; conflicted. My dear Mr. Andrews was dead, but still I owed him my loyalty. I could never betray him or his memory, or the child growing in me. It was all just too soon after his passing.

I averted my eyes away from Fraser's gaze, and glanced across the street at nothing in particular.

"Fraser, I... I can't."

That didn't stop his persistence.

"But I thought you...? Was I imagining it? I didn't think I was."

The poor fellow, I felt sorry for him as he stood there, looking as if he wanted the ground to swallow him up. I touched his arm sympathetically, my fingers lingering there longer than they should've.

"Fraser, it's complicated."

"Well, at least tell me _why_!" he begged, trying to keep his voice down as a couple of passers-by crossed the street.

I shook my head and resumed with sweeping the doorstep, even though there was nothing left to sweep. I was going through the motions to distract myself.

"I'm not obligated to tell you _anything_. Believe me when I say it's complicated. You're better off not knowing. Now, please..."

Clearly frustrated, Fraser grabbed the broom from my hands and set it against the wall, forcing me to stop distracting myself.

"Are you married?" he asked, his tone hushed. "Is that what it is?"

I sighed, rolling my eyes skyward. Good gracious, this was all so awkward.

"No, I'm... not married."

Fraser shrugged, seeming quite perplexed.

"Listen... if you didn't feel the same way, I'd understand. I'd walk away right now! But there's something between us, and you know it. You _know _it. I wish you could tell me what it is that you're afraid of."

I wished I could, too. I_ wished _I could! And I wished I didn't have those feelings of guilt. Those feelings of betrayal. Mr. Andrews' nagging little voice at the back of my mind, telling me it was too soon to be with someone else.

"You're better off not knowing," I repeated. "There are reasons why I can't be involved with you in that way. I'm sorry. I just can't."

Fraser gritted his teeth firmly and ruffled his free hand through his messy curls. Then he nodded, appearing to have accepted his defeat.

"Fine, I get it. But you know something? Me and you, Mimi. We would've been good together. You know it's the truth."

Finishing the last of his ale, he then wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and walked away without saying another word. And I stood there silently, watching him go. Oh, I felt dreadful. I'd obviously broken the poor fellow's heart, and he didn't even know why I had to reject him. In any other circumstance, I would not have done so. But something inside of me snapped, and I had a sudden urge to run after him.

_Go after him. Go!_

And I did._  
_

"Fraser?" I called out, just as he was about to disappear back into the pub. He turned around, and we looked at each other. After a moment of indecision, I walked up to him and lowered my voice to almost a whisper. "If... I tell you everything, will you promise to understand?"

His brow knitted into a frown for a second or two, and then his face relaxed. He placed his empty pint glass on the window ledge and folded his arms.

"Alright, then. I'll do my best."

Feeling anxious, I persuaded him to come with me to a little park around the corner, where we sat on a wooden bench and talked. Or rather, I talked and he listened. I stuck to my word, and slowly but surely, told Fraser everything, starting with my employment as a White Star Line stewardess. Being infatuated with Thomas Andrews and winning his heart. Our ups and downs aboard the ship. His conflicted feelings over his estranged marriage. The iceberg... the panic and the hysteria... Mr. Andrews dying in my arms. My scramble to survive. Mrs. Andrews and Jonathan Donahue's hate campaign against me, leading me to run away from Ireland. And I also confessed to being pregnant, by the now-deceased man who'd designed the _Titanic_. Not to mention, my father's shame in me. The whole sorry story came out, and I was relieved to actually_ tell_ someone. I felt like I'd spent the last two months living a lie, unable to confide in anyone why I'd really moved to Scotland. And now, somebody knew _everything_. I'd watched Fraser's jaw drop further and further as I'd told him my story, and by the time I'd finished, I did wonder if he would have a permanent case of lockjaw.

"Nobody else around here knows any of this," I whispered, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. "And I'd really appreciate it, if it stayed that way. I feel like a fugitive, on the run from Thomas's wife and that creep Donahue. But there you have it. The whole shameful story."

Fraser picked his jaw up from the ground and sat back in the bench, stretching his long legs far out in front of him. He rubbed his hand across his face and exhaled a long, drawn out sigh.

"I'm sorry," I said, screwing up my eyes. I had to prepare myself for the backlash. "It's not what you expected to hear."

After a moment of silence, he spoke. His voice was soft and quiet, and from listening to him, I could tell that he didn't seem too incensed with me.

"Thomas Andrews!" he gasped, looking over toward the trees. "I mean... that's something! I met the guy a couple of times, when I was serving my apprenticeship. Seemed like a decent sort. I'd heard about his wife walking out on him, but I'm not into gossip. So... you and Andrews? On _Titanic_? And you're having a baby. No, you're right, Mimi. This wasn't what I was expecting to hear,"

"I'm sorry!" I told him again, feeling very defensive. "I only confided in you so that you know the truth about me. About why we can never..."

My voice drifted away and I didn't even finish. Surely, his mind could finish my words for me. He turned on the bench to face me, pulling those ridiculously long legs back in and sitting up straighter.

"Oh, Mimi," he sighed, locking eyes with me. "You're grieving, you're pregnant, and you're on your own. You're sad, lonely and away from home. I get it, Mimi. I get it. My timing is wrong. You're not ready. It's too soon after Andrews and _Titanic_, and there's a baby to think about. See? I _do _understand."

He did. He did understand. Finally, a man who wasn't judging me and calling me a filthy whore. How refreshing, to come across a gentleman who empathised with my predicament.

"I wish things could be different," I said. "But they're not. I have to ride this one out, and it's going to take time. You've been very kind to me, Fraser. You deserve a lady who can give you her time and attention. It's something I can't do, right now."

Fraser pulled a tin of cigarettes from his trouser pocket and flicked it open, selecting one cigarette for keeping behind his ear, and one for lighting up there and then. He closed the tin over again and slipped it back into his pocket.

"I can be patient," he said, popping the unlit cigarette between his teeth. A mischievous grin extended across his face.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I told him honestly. "Would you _want_ to take on another man's baby?"

The cheeky grin faded as quickly as it had come, and a sheepish look crossed his face.

"I'd, er... I'd have to think about that one." he said awkwardly, glancing away.

I stood to my feet and brushed out the creases in my skirt; well, I knew my answer now. There was as much of a future for Fraser and me, as there was for Mr. Andrews and me. In plainer words, any kind of future together simply did not exist.

"Thank you for listening, Fraser," I said, instinctively placing my hand over my middle. I was only four months into my pregnancy, but already I was experiencing acid indigestion. "I have to get back to work now. Mrs. Tate will be wondering where I am,"

Fraser lit his cigarette and nodded, deeply inhaling a strong dose of nicotine and tar. He blew the smoke out through his nose, which wasn't the most attractive sight, even for a handsome lad like him.

"I'll see you around, Mimi. And don't you worry. I won't tell a soul."

Giving him a final smile, I turned and headed off, back across the street in the direction of the Tate Inn. I knew I'd done the right thing, giving Fraser the brush-off like that. Indeed, he was right; I was still grieving for Mr. Andrews, and my baby would be coming along soon enough. Perhaps it wasn't even Fraser himself I'd become attached to. Perhaps Fraser was little more than a symbol for everything that was missing in my life, and he could've been _any_ decent fellow in the aftermath of Mr. Andrews' death. I'd latched on to the first man who'd paid me any positive attention, and he so happened to be this kindly Scottish draughtsman. Goodness, I didn't even know his last name, and he didn't know mine. Clearly, some things just weren't meant to be.

But that didn't take away the loneliness I'd been feeling, no matter what my complicated personal life had dictated to me. And, believe me; I was lonely, and craving to be held. Craving affection. Something told me that despite rejecting Fraser, things would never be quite as simple between us. And Mr. Andrews' voice would be nagging in my head, scolding me again and again, for daring to wish for a living person's affection.


	43. It Gets Lonely On The Other Side

It's probably obvious to some readers that the Patrick Swayze/Demi Moore movie _**Ghost**__, _and certain scenes from_** The Sixth Sense**, _have heavily influenced parts of my latest chapters. (Bruce Willis's character in_ The Sixth Sense_ finds that he can only communicate with his grieving widow while she's asleep).

I've also borrowed couple of references from _The Dark Knight_ for this one, and the chapter title is a line from the Kate Bush song _Wuthering Heights_.

As always, I'm grateful to those who continue to read! Here's hoping you all have a safe and happy festive season - eat, drink, and be merry!

* * *

_**Chapter 43: It Gets Lonely... On The Other Side From You  
**_

After I'd let Fraser down gently, I saw much less of him, as expected. I rather missed him and his infectious grin, and his bumbling attempts at making conversation. It was my own fault for rejecting him, but I was still conflicted about what to think. It was for the best - for me _and_ for him - yet I continued to crave affection, and my loneliness grew. I realised that I could've had such affection from Fraser, and because of my loyalty to Mr. Andrews, I had to let the poor fellow down. Mr. Andrews should've been my protector and my soul mate, but he was no longer on this mortal earth. I resented him for leaving me alone to deal the aftermath of his death and everything that went with it. Why did he have to go, leaving my world so cold? It was now four months since his passing, and how I wished things would begin to get easier. Our child was gaining strength inside me, and every day of my pregnancy was a stark reminder of what we'd once had. There were nights when I laid alone in bed, my palm resting on my stomach and tears trickling down my cheeks.

And one such night, he came back to me. Perhaps I'd drifted off to sleep and was merely dreaming of his presence, or perhaps his spirit did visit me. But whether they were realistic dreams, or genuine visits from the afterlife, didn't seem to matter. I felt solace and a sense of comfort in seeing him.

The room was of a comfortable temperature, and I'd left the lamp on by the side of the bed. I was sleepy and light-headed, tucked up in bed for the night, when I felt a chill spreading over my body.

"_Thomas_?" I whispered. I knew what that chill meant; I was quite used to it by now.

There was a sensation of fingertips gently caressing my face, and I opened my eyes.

"_Thomas_... "

The apparation of Mr. Andrews settled on the edge of the bed next to me, dressed in a blue pinstriped suit and waistcoat, his pocket watch chain peeking out from under his blazer. He was well groomed and handsome, just as he'd been when he was living and breathing. How I was overjoyed that his presence was with me again! The chilly feeling hadn't left my body, but his hand on my face was oddly warm.

"I miss you, Thomas... "

He leaned over and kissed my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin for the briefest moment.

"I miss you too," he returned, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand. "I know you're still angry with me for my passing, Mimi. You cry at night, don't you?"

Propping myself up onto my elbows in the bed, I pulled his hand into mine and twisted my fingers through his; those shipbuilder's hands were just as strong as they'd been when he was alive.

"Of _course_ I cry!" I whimpered. "I've had to change a huge part of my life, Thomas. Your wife and her henchman made it impossible for me, as you well know."

"Yes… I know," he said, his voice faltering. "That's because I failed you, and I'll always be sorry for that. You must believe me. I didn't want any of this either. But I feel like you're drifting away from me now, Mimi. You're punishing me for leaving you behind in the mortal world. That lad, Fraser? He's just a boy. There's a long way for him to go yet before he proves himself to be a man. Please... erase him from your mind. It's too soon to be moving on to someone else,"

His darkened eyes begged with me as he tightened his grip around my fingers.

"I like Fraser," I said firmly. "I'm not letting a_ ghost_ decide who I should and shouldn't be friends with. You're in the afterlife now... you don't have a say in the matter! Fraser makes me laugh and he seems a decent fellow. But don't worry, I told him I wasn't ready to see another man yet. _And _I told him I'm expecting a dead man's child. Happy now?"

Mr. Andrews brought my hand to his cheek and held it there, gulping down a lump in his throat. From what I could see through the dull glow of the night light, he appeared to be on the brink of tears.

"I can't bear for you to be with someone else," he murmured, nuzzling his cheek against my hand. "Not yet. Fraser is a nice enough lad, but he's not one for settling down. He'd only break your heart, and I don't want to see that. And… well, I'd be upset if our little one called him 'daddy'. Oh, that sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? I'm a _spirit_, for God's sake. I'm part of another realm now, and I have no right to be upset if you move on with your life. I can't expect you to stay in limbo because of me,"

I sat upright in bed and cupped both of my hands around his face, pressing my forehead against his and closing my eyes. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest – damn him! How I wished he was still alive, to marry me and look after his new family. I missed him now more than ever before, and I resented the loneliness. His passing had left a gaping hole in my life; a hole that I feared would never be filled. The pain was still there, tearing at my heart, four months on.

"I'll always love you, Thomas," I breathed, my eyes squeezed shut. "But you're no longer with me in this world, and I'm the one who has to carry on every day. I resent you leaving me and the baby. I despise it! Why didn't you _live_, darling?"

I hadn't wanted to become quite so emotional, but I had little control over my feelings at that moment. Tears escaped from the corners of my eyelids, and Mr. Andrews dutifully wiped them away with the tips of his thumbs.

"My heart couldn't take the stress when _Titanic_ started to founder," he answered in a gentle tone. "But I would've died on that day anyway, Mimi. There weren't enough lifeboats for everyone onboard the ship and I had to stay behind. You _know_ that, sweetheart,"

I ignored what he'd said - it was too painful to acknowledge. Of course I'd known he would have died anyway, heart attack or not. Of course I'd known about the reduced number of lifeboats on _Titanic_. I didn't need reminding of it!

Surprising me into opening my eyes, Mr. Andrews took a firm grasp of my hips and effortlessly pulled me onto his lap, swivelling my legs over the side of the bed. Well, I was wearing nothing more than a flimsy cream-coloured nightdress, which was rather sheer in places. Like a naughty adolescent, his eyes darted down to my chest, glancing at what was visible under the fabric, before darting back up again. He swept aside a lock of tousled hair that had strayed over my face, and for a quiet moment, we looked at each other.

"How is this fair, Thomas?" I sighed, breaking the silence. "I'm frightened I'll mess things up with the baby. How am I going to cope with being on my own all the time? Maybe I'll lose what's left of my sanity. I don't want the baby to end up in a children's home!"

"Why would that happen?" he asked, wrinkling his brow at the mere suggestion. "For heaven's sake, Mimi, have_ faith_ in yourself! You'll be the best mother the little 'un can have, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You're not eighteen any more. This is your second chance. It'll be Mimi and Baby Andrews-Monaghan against the world! I'll be watching over you both and I won't fail you again. I'm back on course for earning my wings from my higher source, so I can become a 'watchful protector'. Wait and see. It'll happen, my dear!"

"A watchful protector..." I repeated softly. I was becoming drowsier and drowsier, sitting comfortably astride his lap.

"Your silent guardian," he whispered after me, sliding his arms around my back and pulling me into him. Resting my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes again, I was overcome by a combination of bliss and tiredness. I hadn't felt this content since he'd been alive - that one evening when we'd cuddled up together in his bed, before _Titanic _had struck the iceberg. I wished that, once again, we could cuddle together in bed; be wrapped in each other's arms and sleep soundly like a normal couple. But of course, I wasn't stupid. The man was dead, and I knew such a wish would never come true.

"Promise that you'll keep watching over me and junior," I said, snuggling into his shoulder. "It's the only way we can feel safe, Thomas."

His arms were strong around me, and he began to rock me gently from side to side. The swaying motion was calming and hypnotic.

"You must remember I'm watching over Elba too," he said. "But I'll do my best to look out for you all,"

Nuzzling his face into my mane of wild hair, his uttered his final words of the night.

"You sleep now, darling."

It was then that I must have drifted off into a contented slumber, and the next morning, I felt happier than I had done in such a while. I truly believed his spirit was looking out for me, and I brushed aside any rational thought: that I could simply have dreamt these ghostly encounters. Breezing through Mrs. Tate's kitchen at breakfast time, there was a beaming smile on my face.

"Morning, Mrs. Tate!" I greeted my employer, grabbing my apron from the back of the door and knotting it around my waist.

Mrs. Tate was already up to her elbows, washing breakfast dishes in the sink, and she noted my cheery disposition.

"Well, someone's in a magnificent mood this morning!" she said, chuckling. "Does it have something to do with that blonde lad with the puppydog eyes?"

_Blonde lad with the puppydog eyes?_ She was obviously referring to Fraser. And what exactly did _he_ have to do with anything?

"Fraser?" I scoffed, rolling up my sleeves and getting stuck in to my kitchen chores. "I haven't seen him in a while. Why do you ask, Mrs. Tate?"

"Oh, he was at the reception desk last night. Looking for _you_," she explained, handing me a frying pan to scrub. "I assumed that… well… he'd_ found_ you, if you get my meanin'!"

My mouth dropped open, as I knew exactly what she was implying. But I wasn't offended by her implication - Fraser was an attractive fellow, and if the situation had been different, I'm sure I would've jumped into his arms without question.

"Mrs. Tate!" I mock-gasped. "I can assure you, I haven't seen Fraser at all. And he certainly wasn't in my room last night. Absolutely not,"

"Well, you were talking to _somebody_!" she continued teasing me, a mischievous smirk crossing her face.

Realising she'd overheard my chat with Mr. Andrews' spirit - or me talking to myself in my sleep, whichever it had been – my face began to flush. I wasn't sure how I was going to explain that one!

"I, er, I was talking in my sleep," I stammered, unable to look Mrs. Tate in the eye. I knew how it must've seemed to her, but I could hardly say, _"__I was chatting to the ghost of my dead lover!"__,_ could I? Surely she would've had me committed to the local mental institution, and that was the last thing I needed.

"In your sleep? Well, if you say so, Mimi," she said, giving me a playful nudge with her elbow. "But that boy was looking for you last night, so I did wonder,"

Frowning with confusion, I stood motionless at the sink for a moment or two. Very strange indeed, to know that Fraser had been sniffing around again, even though the answer I'd given him had been a 'no'.

"So, erm… did he say what he wanted?" I asked, after a brief pause with my thoughts.

"Not really," she replied matter-of-factly. "Only that he was looking for you. And… well, he did have a bunch of flowers in his hand,"

My jaw dropped again. _Flowers? _

"Mind you," Mrs. Tate continued. "it looked like he'd just run through people's gardens, snatching any half-decent blooms he could get his hands on. He's a cheeky scamp, that one. I wouldn't put it past him!"

What on earth could he have possibly wanted? Asking for me, even after I'd rejected him, and picking flowers from strangers' gardens… for me? He was either very persistent and wanted to win me over, or he'd changed his mind about taking on another man's child and decided to give it another shot. But (what I'd believed to be... ) the spirit of Mr. Andrews, had made his views about Fraser clear to me. His pleading voice rang in my ears as I thought of Fraser's pursuit.

"_Please, Mimi... erase him from your mind. It's too soon to be moving on to someone else._ _I'd be upset if our little one called him 'daddy'…"_

Of course, it _was_ too soon. I'd known that already, without anyone telling me so. And I didn't want my son or daughter to be calling anyone else 'daddy' either; it wouldn't have been right, under the circumstances.

"I can't be anything more than friends with Fraser," I sighed to Mrs. Tate. "He knows this already. Thomas only died four months ago... I'm not over it yet. It's still hard for me to cope with it all. And the baby… the baby just reminds me, every day, that he's not here. I've told Fraser all of this."

"Well, you might have to tell him again, dear," she said, patting my arm gently. "But think about something, first. It might not be a bad idea to have him by your side. I mean, no woman _wants_ to be an unmarried mother, all alone. Bringing up a baby and struggling day to day to make ends meet. He just seems like a nice boy, and he works hard. You never know, dear... being with him could help with your grief. And I believe that every child needs a father figure of some sort."

I respected Mrs. Tate's view, but that was as far as it went. What she'd said was something I disagreed with; to be with somebody for the wrong reasons is always unfair to those concerned. I had to go with my heart and my loyalty, and both of those rested at the feet of Thomas Andrews. I couldn't disrespect him or his memory, by pairing up with another man so that our child would have a male figure in his or her life, or to gloss over the stigma of being an unmarried mother. That would've been wrong, in my eyes. Mr. Andrews had passed on, but my love for him had not. I couldn't pretend to love someone that I didn't, for the sake of a marriage certificate. It wouldn't have been fair to the man in question, whether he was Fraser or somebody else.

"I can't be with Fraser. Not at this moment in my life," I told Mrs. Tate, adamantly. "It would be disrespectful to Thomas, and I'm just not ready. If Fraser thinks I'm worth it, then he'll wait. If he doesn't, he'll move on soon enough. I don't even know his last name!"

Mrs. Tate sighed and wiped her soapy hands on her apron, then passed over another pot for me to scrub.

"Well Mimi, you certainly have a sensible head on your shoulders. A_ very_ sensible head."

I'd been called many other things in the past, and sensible was usually not one of them. Maybe the _Titanic_ disaster, and the aftermath, had forced me to take a more rational perspective on life in general. And of course, the child growing in my belly meant that my focus had to shift.

"I'm not scared of bringing up a baby on my own any more," I smiled, instinctively resting my palm on my stomach. "I'm sure we'll be fine, Mrs. Tate. It'll be Mimi and Baby Andrews-Monaghan, against the world!"

Mrs. Tate chuckled, then paused for a moment, narrowing her eyes.

"_Andrews_-Monaghan, hm? And the baby's father was named Thomas, wasn't he?"

Oh Lord, what had I just said? Stupidly, I'd flung myself into the firing line. Raising my hands to my cheeks with frustration, I begged with Mrs. Tate.

"Please don't tell anyone! It's complicated... I can't have other people knowing. Only Fraser knows, but that's because I _had_ to tell him. Please, Mrs. Tate."

Her eyes warmed, and she touched my shoulder gently.

"Calm yourself down, dear," she soothed. "You don't have to worry. I had a gut feeling this was all something to do with that shipbuilder fellow. Somehow, I just knew,"

Blushing crimson with shame, I shifted my eyes to the floor, unable to look anywhere else.

"I had to get away from Ireland after everything that happened... please, I don't want you to think badly of me."

"Mimi, after the colourful life_ I've_ had, I'd be the last person to do that. The things I used to do in my youth would turn your hair white. My goodness, I was quite the rebel!"

Lifting my head, I plucked up the courage to make eye contact with her, and she smiled.

"There now, see? I'm not an ogre, dearie. What _are_ we going to do with you, eh?"

"Do what the Romans did and throw me to the lions?" I jested.

Mrs. Tate rolled her eyes and flicked her dish towel at me, before returning to the sink full of pots and pans.

"Oh, dear child, don't be silly! You've been through a dreadful ordeal and you need some good fortune heading your way."

And now it was my turn to smile.

"Thank you for being so understanding, Mrs. Tate. I'd really appreciate it if we could keep this between ourselves."

"You have my word. Now let's get on with washing this lot, shall we?"


	44. Forgive Me, Thomas

A relatively short chapter this time, slightly racy in places but nothing too shocking.

I wish you all a safe and Happy New Year when it comes round next week - cheers everybody!

* * *

_**Chapter 44: Forgive Me, Thomas**_

His hair reeked of stale smoke and tobacco, and his hands didn't fare much better. Mr. Andrews had never touched a cigarette and had always been fragrant, bathing every day and using expensive cologne. I doubt that Fraser bathed more than once a week, and the musky scent of working man's sweat and cigarettes clung to his shirt and his unkempt locks. There was quite a contrast between him and the well-to-do, shy Irishman with the impeccable manners and grooming routine. Despite Fraser's earthier aroma, his penniless background and his mischievous nature, there was still something most appealing about him. I'd become the biggest hypocrite; all of my reservations, my protests, my denials, had been thrown out of the window. What in heaven's name would Mr. Andrews have thought of my behaviour?

"This isn't right... " I whispered breathlessly, standing on the bottom step of the stairs to give myself some much-needed height. Fraser rained kisses down my neck, pausing now and then to savour the taste of my skin. I was enjoying every second of it, but the guilt overwhelmed me. The only other man who'd kissed me during those past few years had been Thomas Andrews, and now I was blackening his name by allowing myself to be tempted by someone else. His spirit had warned me against getting involved with Fraser too soon after his death; I was nothing more than a disgrace.

Fraser and I were surrounded by beer barrels and wine bottle crates, in the basement cellar of the inn. It was drafty and steeped in darkness, aside from the one spot lit by the gaslight we'd brought with us. On Mrs. Tate's advice, I'd enlisted Fraser's help with lifting heavy wine crates upstairs to the kitchen, except things hadn't gone quite the way I'd planned them to. As I'd searched for bottles of sparkling cava and Fraser moved barrels around the cellar, we'd talked about _Titanic _and Mr. Andrews. Naturally I'd become upset and Fraser had offered me a concerned shoulder to cry on. This concerned shoulder turned into a comforting embrace, which then evolved into a peck on the lips, evolving further into a more passionate clinch. And, as surprising as it seemed, Fraser had not been the one to initiate such things. The initiator had been _me_. Oh, I knew I was being a dreadful hussy, but my loneliness was consuming me. I was emotionally vulnerable and longed for the company, the attention, the sensation of a man's touch. Fraser had a certain charm to him that I could not resist, as much as I knew I should've done.

He peeled his lips from my neck and looked into my eyes, softly trailing the back of his hand down my cheek.

"Andrews is gone, Mimi," he said. "God rest his soul, but he's gone. You're not. You have a life to be getting on with."

"D'ye think I don't know any of that?" I sighed. "Sometimes I feel his presence at night. My heart will always be his, Fraser. I know I'll always love him."

Fraser stayed quiet for a moment and his eyes drifted away from mine. He dropped his hand from my cheek and straightened up, looking as if his pride had been dealt a blow.

"I get the message loud and clear," he muttered. Gesturing his head towards the crate of sparkling cava next to the cellar door, he changed the subject and asked, "That one there, aye?"

I nodded a 'yes', and he crossed the floor to lift the crate. Well, I did feel rather sorry for him. I knew it seemed like I was leading him on; I was torn and conflicted with everything. I'd enjoyed his kisses and the attention he'd lavished me, but I couldn't let him think I was suddenly over the death of Mr. Andrews. Lord knows, I wasn't. Picking up the lamp from the floor, I followed Fraser to the stairs to give him some light.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, holding the lamp in the air. "Maybe letting you kiss me wasn't the best idea, "

Crouching down and gripping sides of the wine crate with both hands, he threw a comment over his shoulder.

"Or maybe one day you'll let yourself love someone like me."

Leaving those words ringing in my ears, he hauled the crate upstairs to the kitchen, stamping the soles of his boots more loudly than usual. I could sense his irritation, and I didn't blame him for being off with me. As I caught up behind him, he placed the crate on the kitchen counter and didn't look at me once. I'd behaved like a tease, and for that, I deserved to be on the receiving end of his coolness.

"Fraser, I _am _sorry."

Tucking his messy curls into his flat cap, he barged past me on his way to the door.

"I have to get to work now. See y'around."

Despite that afternoon's awkwardness, he came back later the same evening once my housekeeping shift had finished. Our differences were resolved in the only way two attracted people knew how: upstairs in my room, rolling around frantically on the bed as the moonlight streamed through the window.

_"Forgive me, Thomas... "_ I gasped, catching my breath as Fraser's hands travelled along my thighs.

I allowed him to do things that only Mr. Andrews had been permitted to do before, and yes, I enjoyed it. How shameful. I was turning out to be a wicked person, giving in to such terrible lust. Almost five months pregnant with a deceased gentleman's child, yet there I was, letting another man have sexual relations with me. A woman with my colourful history was considered spoiled goods, tainted by too much emotional baggage and loose morals. Poor Mr. Andrews would be spinning circles in his grave, and my instinct told me his spirit would rip my sins apart during his next visit from the afterlife. It was not even five months after his death and already I was cheating on my beloved shipbuilder's memory; perhaps I hadn't learned enough since having Marie all those years ago. If anything, I appeared to have gone backwards, immaturely behaving like that eighteen year old pregnant whore from 1902. I surely deserved eternal hellfire and damnation for what I was doing with Fraser. On the other hand, I was not being malicious with my intent; I simply didn't want to be alone any more. Fraser was a fun fellow to be around and there was an undeniable chemistry between us. But the ghost of Mr. Andrews would always be there. He was the elephant in the room, so to speak. And because of this, I seemed destined to be lonely and miserable for a long time to come. Happiness would always elude me, no matter what said, no matter what I did. I could never win.


	45. Many Regrets

_**Author's Note: Now On Hiatus  
**_

_Well, dear readers; if I'm honest, I haven't been "feeling" this story for a couple of months now. I've come to somewhat dislike the way I've written Mimi's character, which I didn't think would happen. I may simply need a break from it, or perhaps it'll just lie unfinished if I decide to move on to other projects. I really don't know and nothing is set in stone. But this will certainly be the last chapter for a while, and the hiatus will be indefinite. _

_Thank you so much to all the readers, faves and reviews, and __I sincerely apologise to **everyone** who has been following this story. _**  
**

* * *

_**Chapter 45: Many Regrets  
**_

After we'd been intimate with each other, Fraser and I cuddled up together under the covers of my tiny single bed, eventually falling asleep. It'd felt strange that someone who was not Mr. Andrews had put his arms around me and held me closely. I wasn't sure if I could allow myself to get used to it, but at the time, it was a comfort at least. And would you believe, he finally told me his surname! Not only that, but he'd revealed more about himself: Fraser MacGregor, aged twenty eight. His father was a Scottish farm hand, his mother was an Australian immigrant, and he had two younger sisters. He laughed when he told me he was a tearaway as a child, always in trouble for stealing apples and flowers from people's gardens. That piece of information didn't surprise me! Our backgrounds were quite different - though we were both working class, there seemed to have been a lot of love in the MacGregor household as he'd grown up. His parents were Christian, but not overtly so. Much of what I remembered from my childhood was related to my father's overbearing Catholic views, being forced upon me from a very young age. I rather envied Fraser's less religiously fanatical upbringing, and the fact that I'd been brought up as Catholic didn't seem to bother him one jot. He was easy going, carefree, and everything I'd wanted to be. I didn't just envy his upbringing. I envied _him_.

Fraser must've been a heavier sleeper than I, as the first dawn light after five o'clock woke me from my slumber. I turned my head on the pillow to look at him as he slept; his midlength hair was tucked beneath his head, save for one golden curl next to his ear. But he was peaceful. I carefully moved his arm from around my waist, and he stirred a little before lying still again. Now I couldn't get myself back to sleep. There wouldn't be much point in sleeping anyway, as my shift in the kitchen would begin at seven o'clock. And already my mind was turning over all those cogs; should I give Fraser MacGregor a chance or should I let him down gently? Mr. Andrews, oh my dear Mr. Andrews. My dear Thomas, the father of my child. Had he still been be alive, I would never have done this to him. There wouldn't have been such a craving for another man's affection.

As I mulled over my options in my head, my attention was drawn to something - I could no longer hear the faint ticking of Mr. Andrews' pocket watch from my bedside drawer. Every night since April, I'd gone to bed with the comforting tick lulling me to sleep. The watch had been ticking away as usual last night, but now I couldn't hear a thing. Reaching over to the drawer handle and tugging it open, I listened. Nothing. I fumbled around inside the drawer until I found the watch and I lifted it out. Holding it close to my ear, I could confirm that it had definitely stopped. How disappointing! Of course, I could simply take it to a jeweller's shop and have it repaired. But that wasn't the problem. _Why_ had it stopped overnight? Did the spirit of Mr. Andrews pay me a visit and let his anger be known, by stopping the pocket watch? I knew that I'd let him down, sleeping with another man so soon after his death. And while carrying his baby; how shameful of me. Yes, I decided that the stopping of the pocket watch was Mr. Andrews' way of telling me he was disappointed in my behaviour. Feeling rather sheepish, I returned the watch to the drawer, then fixed my eyes on the darkened ceiling.

_"Thomas, I'm sorry,"_ I whispered_. "I've been such a disappointment to you. I'll never betray you again, I promise you..."_

I'd made my decision. I didn't want, nor need, a substitute for the man I'd lost. I really could not be with Fraser in the way that he wanted me to be. This led to a very heated exchange between us before my shift for work; 'the morning after the night before', to use a terrible cliche. I was already dressed for my shift, and he was dressing himself as we talked.

"I'll take care of you," he sighed, pulling on his trousers and hooking his braces over his shoulders. "You don't have to be alone any more,"

"It's been almost five months since Thomas died, Fraser... not a long time."

"I _do _understand. I know you're still upset over your loss, but I can help with your pain."

"And what about the baby? It has Thomas's blood. No other man has a right to this child."

"Mimi, I'd look after you both. I'd provide for you. Lord knows, I don't make as much money as Andrews did, but I'd do my best for you and the little one. Why don't you _let_ me?"

"It's too soon... I just can't."

Tears stung the corners of my eyes as I shook my head and looked away from Fraser, folding my arms defensively in front of my chest. There was so much confusion brewing inside me that I honestly didn't know _what_ to think any more. I had a chance, a sliver of a chance, of happiness with someone who was not Mr. Andrews. Nothing was going to bring the father of my child back to the world. Perhaps it was about time I started to move my life forward? I'd known Mr. Andrews for a matter of months before my romantic trysts with him; but those romantic trysts had only taken place over one week onboard the _Titanic_. Did I even have the right to still be mourning? Surely, only Mrs. Andrews and the rest of his family and friends had that right. Me? I was just somebody he'd had a brief relationship with. I was nothing, in the grand scheme of things. My heart was telling me that I did have the right to continue grieving, but my mind was telling me something different. I felt completely torn between going with my heart and going with rational thought. Every time I deliberated, I came to the same conclusion: that to become romantically involved with Fraser would be disrespectful to my darling's memory. I had to honour the deceased.

"I _hate_ you for doing this to me!" I whined loudly, sounding like a petulant child. Frustration laced my every word.

Fraser took a step to the side of me and threw his hands in the air.

"For doing _what _to you, damnit?" he demanded, arms still outstretched.

I was probably talking in riddles, not really making much sense to him. I didn't even make much sense to myself. I turned to face him, then squeezed my eyelids shut.

"For _this_," I answered, taking a few seconds to open my eyes again. "Things were easier before you came along and muddled everything. You're pressuring me to make decisions I'm not ready to make,"

Fraser's nostrils flared and I could gauge his anger as the muscles in his neck visibly tensed up. He ruffled his hand through the tousled locks of his sun bleached hair.

"Decisions you're not ready to make... " he repeated slowly. "I see. Well, maybe you should've thought of that first before going to bed with me, eh? You weren't complaining last night. I seem to remember you calling out my name... more than once!"

"And I regret every minute of it!" I shot back, feeling my cheeks begin to flush. "I should never have kissed you, let alone allowed you to spend the night. This whole thing was a mistake... I'm so ashamed. Thomas isn't long in his grave, Fraser! I'm nearly five months pregnant. What kind of woman does that make me? I disgust myself. Only a prostitute would act the way I did. And you took advantage of me, knowing I was vulnerable!"

Fraser seemed stunned at such an outburst, I can tell you. He was quiet for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling heavily as he tried to contain his fury at my insults. Shaking his head with disbelief, he turned his gaze away from mine.

"Well, that's just great," he murmured. "Thanks a lot, Mimi. You're all heart! Oh, and I didn't take advantage of you. But you know that as well as I do. You're just looking for someone to blame because you feel guilty we slept together."

He lifted his work boots from the floor and shuffled backwards, distancing himself from me. "You think a man can't be hurt by a woman, huh?"

I was a letdown; a disgrace to the memory of Thomas Andrews and a disgrace to this fellow standing in front of me. Believe me, nobody hated myself more than I did. My behaviour towards Fraser, and my sullying of the memory of the man I loved, was unforgiveable.

"I _know _a man can be hurt by a woman," I said, aware of Fraser's teeth clenching with anger as I was speaking. He then snorted and gave me a derisive look, his dark eyes narrowing into slits.

"Seems like I got you wrong, doll. I never had you down as a heartless bitch, but aye… that's exactly what you are."

Oh, dear Fraser. What had I done to the man? I couldn't blame him for his scathing words. Of course it was hurtful for him say those things, but surely it was nothing less than I'd deserved. He hadn't done anything wrong; I was the one who'd spoiled everything. He was right - my guilt over the previous evening's union was gnawing away at my conscience. But that was not Fraser's fault. The guilt was mine, and mine alone to bear.

"I could've helped you through this," he carried on, sitting on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots. "but you'd rather hang on to the ghost from your past. I'm finished with it, Mimi. Have it your way! I'll be your mistake and you'll be mine. We're quits now, lass."

"Look, we don't have to be a couple, but we can still be friends," I suggested desperately, hopping forward to tug at his sleeve. With obvious disdain, he batted my hand from his arm and gave an ironic chuckle.

"That ship has _sailed_, love!" he scoffed, raising his eyebrows. "And aye, the pun was intended."

Fully dressed and with his boots laced, he grabbed his jacket and cap from the chair, choking back another mocking laugh.

"My God, my fingers have been well and truly burnt, eh? I can't believe I've been used. By a bloody _woman_!"

"Fraser, I didn't use you... "

Tossing his jacket over his shoulder, he leaned in close to my face.

"You knew I was in love with you, doll. You used me."

We looked into one another's eyes intently, neither of us shifting opinion on the matter. It was clear what he now thought of me.

"Have a nice life, Mimi."

That was the last time we ever spoke. After our one night stand, I saw him around the town now and then, but he simply ignored me. I can't say that I blamed him - on the contrary. I have so many regrets over the shameful way I treated Fraser MacGregor. A kindly fellow, willing to love me and willing to take on another man's child, and I'd thrown it all back in his face. But I was still grieving for Mr. Andrews; what else could I have done? The pain of his death still affected me and I could not have hidden that from Fraser. I had to be fair to him as well as myself. However, my regrets are indeed many. I've lived all of these years, knowing that I should have treated him better. As the First World War broke out in 1914, he did what the young men of that time were expected to do and signed up to fight for King and Country, with the British Armed Forces. He didn't return home alive. A friend of a friend told me he'd sustained awful injuries and died after a number of days of suffering, though this differs from another account that I'd heard; that he'd died instantly after being caught in gunfire. Whichever way he'd met his end, I will always regret the insensitive way that I treated him in August, 1912. I didn't just lose one decent, loving man that year. I lost two.


End file.
